Splinter
by Kittenshift17
Summary: Captured by the Dark Lord's forces, Hermione assumes her their death is imminent. She finds herself wishing that were so when she is instead given over as rewards to one of Voldemort's loyalest Death Eaters; Thorfinn Rowle. Bloodied and bruised she's the bait that will lure Harry to Voldemort and finally settle the battle.
1. Chapter 1: These Broken Pieces

**A/N: I know what you're thinking. You're thinking: "Fuck you, Kitten. Don't you already have enough incomplete WIPs to be getting on with? What are you doing posting ANOTHER new fic?" And you're right. I'm awful. But I've grown rather addicted to the rush of posting new fics for you all to taste and I like to make sure you all know that even when I'm not actually updating the other fics you're addicted to, I'm still writing something. *kisses you* **

**Now, in case you missed the tags, this fic is primarily a Thorfinn Rowle/Hermione Granger centric story. There are also important side-pairings of Antonin Dolohov/Ginevra Weasley and Rabastan Lestrange/Luna Lovegood. If that is not you're cup of tea, please depart this train immediately.**

 **If such things are to your taste read on and also join me, Canimal and Freya Ishtar aboard** _The Death Eater Express_ **on Facebook. A Death Eater related fan-group where we have gorgeous characters with questionable morals. *winks***

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 **WARNINGS: ** This fic is DARK - yes, all capitals are necessary. For those of you who have read Fervidity, you should know this is Darker is some ways, Lighter in others. I will say this is a fic from what it would be like if Hermione in Fervidity were to attend a revel as the victim, rather than as a Death Eater. You get it? It's Dark. It's twisted. It's fucked up and I'm going to get a lot of hate over it. I won't be putting trigger warnings at the start of every chapter. They'll get repetitive and dull and be on literally every chapter. However, this fic will, at some stage, include: Death. Dub-Con. Non-Con. Torture. Violence. Stockholm Syndrome. Some BDSM mentions. Some mentions of really fucked up things no one likes to think about. So much Smut it will make your head spin. And probably a bunch of other things I can't' think of right now. Point is, it's messed up and if you have triggers this fic _will_ set you off, I guarantee it. If Fervidity makes you squicky, probably turn back now.

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 **Splinter**

 _By Kittenshift17_

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 **Chapter 1:These Broken Pieces**

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"Pick one," the Dark Lord drawled in a tone that belied his boredom with the proceedings.

Thorfinn Rowle stared in equal parts horror and intrigue as a trio of young women were paraded before them, their hands bound in chains. All had been stripped naked. All had been beaten, their pale flesh blooming with deep purple bruises. Their heads hung forwards, long hair in shades of wavy blonde, glossy red and curly brown marring their facial features.

Thorfinn glanced sideways at Rabastan Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov, confusion marring his face. Identical expressions of bewilderment reflected back at him from his friends and fellow Death Eaters.

"My Lord?" Thorfinn asked when it became clear the man wasn't going to elaborate. The Dark Lord reclined lazily in his throne, Nagini draped around his shoulders like a living scarf, her serpentine tongue flicking out and tasting the air in curiosity as the beaten and bloodied witches were dragged in and shoved to the floor before them.

"The three of you will be attending the revel this evening as the main event," the Dark Lord hissed and Thorfinn narrowed his eyes in horror, "You are each to pick one of the females before you to be made a spectacle of."

"I call the blonde," Rabastan said immediately and Thorfinn rolled his eyes at the dark haired git's obvious type. Anything blonde was considered fair game to Rabastan. Thorfinn knew because more than once the man had made a move on him that had made Thorfinn's skin crawl.

"You know I prefer red-heads," Antonin intoned and Thorfinn sighed heavily. That left only the ragged looking brunette for him. She was the most bruised and she had dried blood and dirt crusted across her naked flesh.

"Excellent," the Dark Lord's smile was wide and terrifying, "Take a look at your new pets, my friends."

Thorfinn felt a sick chill slide down his spine when he experienced a sharp and sudden stab of understanding. These three young women were to be made the main spectacle of the night's oncoming revel in debauchery and depravity. And they were all eerily familiar.

"You're all going to pay for this," a low, hoarse, and decidedly familiar voice came from the brunette witch as she slowly lifted her head, flicking her wild mane of coffee curls out of her face and revealing the features of none other than Mudblood Granger.

"You expect us to fuck mudbloods and blood traitors?" Thorfinn demanded, forgetting himself in a perverted horror over the idea of fucking her; of laying a hand on her filthy skin. Of being instructed to force himself upon the little urchin. He owed the bitch a rough fucking time and he meant to exact his revenge on her, but she was still a filthy mudblood.

"I expect you to make her your pet, Thorfinn," the Dark Lord replied, clearly choosing to let his backtalk and his tone slide this once, "Before you are none other than Hermione Granger, Ginevra Weasley and Luna Lovegood. Imagine Harry Potter's horror when he learns the fate of the three most faithful witches to him and his crusade."

"If they're the main attraction for tonight, are we to kill them?" Rabastan wanted to know, his hands tangling into the long mane of blonde hair Luna Lovegood possessed and using the grip to jerk her head up. Her face was battered. A cut on her bottom lip and another on her cheekbone marred her vague beauty. Her eyes were wide and scared as Rabastan leered into her face with that feral expression Thorfinn had seen before. The one that said the sight of such fine blonde hair was making him horny. The one that promised sexual deviousness if he could get away with it.

And Thorfinn got the feeling the Dark Lord was more than willing to let him get away with it.

"No, I think not. Others will do the dying tonight. For Harry Potter to be lured here they must be kept alive. And each of you have chosen the pet you will keep. It will be up to you to ensure their continued survival and preferably, their obedience. I am tasking each of you with their protection from my other, less obedient followers and with breaking their spirits. By the time Potter arrives with his entourage to rescue these damsels I expect each of you to have thoroughly broken them to your will. You may use them however you wish, as long as they bend to your will. Make them yours in any way you see fit. Just make sure they will still be able to be used as bait for Potter."

Thorfinn felt a sick, cruel twist his stomach when he glanced back at the Mudblood. Her fierce eyes clashed furiously with his, her expression daring him to think he could break her. Challenging him to even think he could exert his will over her own. Defying him to believe, for even a moment, she would ever willingly surrender herself to him. He felt hatred simmer and begin to bubble in his blood, threatening to consume him with the need to make her pay for every degradation the bitch had caused him to endure over the years. The number of times she had bested him in the field. The number of times she and her friends had outwitted him and his fellow Death Eaters as the war waged on. All those moments sought only to awaken the monster that lived inside his soul.

Mudblood Granger was going to find out there was nothing left of the cruel boy she'd gone to Hogwarts with. In fact all three women were in for a rude awakening when they learned what had become of their peers in the years since they'd graduated. Not that he knew much about the younger two. Granger had been a first year when he and Antonin had been seventh years. Rabastan was the oldest of the bunch and had been in his final year when Thorfinn and Antonin had been first years. As the years of the war had ravaged on, they had all morphed from twisted boys into evil men.

Thorfinn smirked at her cruelly, despite her gall to still look so furious and spiteful in the face of being stripped and beaten. In the face of her capture.

"With pleasure, my Lord," Thorfinn heard the words slip off his tongue sinisterly, his own eyes telling Granger she was in for the worst time of her life. He would enjoy subjecting her to all manner of horror and displaying the cruel creature of darkness he had become. He'd already been a bastard willing to pick on the little bitch for being an interfering tattle-tale and a mudblood.

But the boy he'd been in Hogwarts was not the man he'd become.

No, that boy had been stripped away from Thorfinn. Little pieces of that boy had been chipped and chiselled away, flaked off like splinters off a stone, leaving something else in its place. Something jagged and dangerous. Something stronger and harder. Something lethal.

"Excellent," the Dark Lord's smile widened, indicating that he was pleased with their acceptance of the task, "On the table to the left you will find an array of degrading items I expect each female to be clad in before they are brought into the revel going on in the next room. Be inventive boys. Word must reach Harry Potter of the terrible shame and horror these girls will endure as a result of his resistance to my reign."

With all of that being said the Dark Lord rose and swept out of the room, clearly intent on joining in the revel taking place within the next room of Malfoy Manor.

"Such a thoughtful gift from the Master," Antonin purred, having moved over to the Weasley girl and begun stroking his hands - almost lovingly - down the length of her bare spine. She squirmed, trying to get away from him, the chains binding her wrists and ankles clanking softly. Thorfinn eyed the way her head snapped up angrily, her fists clenching.

If ever there were three women who would rile against their chains and rage against their captivity it was Lovegood, Granger and Weasley. Thorfinn saw it in the glint in Weasley's eyes and in the way she squirmed under Antonin's touch that she loathed every minute of what was being inflicted upon them. These three had given them hell at the Ministry when they'd still just been dumb kids, and they hadn't gotten any easier to deal with across the battlefield since then. He didn't doubt that as soon as the time came, she and her companions would seek vengeance and retribution for all they endured. He supposed it made him entirely fucked up when the very thought of the things he would subject Granger to made his cock twitch. It throbbed at the notion of having her rile against him.

"Indeed," Rabastan agreed with Antonin quietly, having already hauled the Lovegood girl up by her hair, her body pressed back against his. He still had one hand tangled in her hair and the other caressed her breasts with feather-light touches. Her eyes were wide with fear of what he meant to do to her and she jostled slightly in his hold when he tweaked her nipple unkindly.

"If you even think about…" Granger began but before she could finish the sentence Thorfinn stepped forwards and backhanded her.

Her head snapped to the side with a crack, her cheek turning an angry red and blood dribbling from the split his Rowle signet ring left upon her lip. He smiled cruelly as he jerked sharply on her mess of dark curls, titling her head back until he knew it would pain her.

"If you say one more word, I'm going to jam my cock down your throat until you choke on it, you filthy little mudblood whore," Thorfinn warned her while Rabastan and Antonin laughed.

The bitch's eyes widened at his tone and his threat.

She didn't speak again, clearly reading his evil intent in his eyes. Thorfinn knew she was a fast learner, but he knew Granger would never break so easily. That much was clear from the anger that glittered in her dark eyes, teasing him with the urge to shove her down and brutalise her until she never back-talked him again. The little bitch had always had a smart fucking mouth and he wasn't above putting it to better use than letting her back-talk him again.

The outburst alone was enough to push at his usually steadfast control over his emotions and Thorfinn caught the smirk Rabastan threw Antonin over Thorfinn's behaviour. Both men knew from stories of his days at Hogwarts that if there was ever anything in the world that tugged against Thorfinn's self-control and made him volatile beyond recognition it was the mudblood currently writhing in his hold. She'd been a thorn in his paw the entire length of his final year and as she'd grown the bitch had given him even more trouble.

Thorfinn was going to enjoy watching her break. He would revel in bending the bitch to his will. She awoke the monster inside him the way no other ever had and Thorfinn's anticipation of breaking the beast free was a palpable, living thing that gnawed at his psyche ravenously.


	2. Chapter 2: Black Magic

**A/N:** **My gosh, I was not expecting so much love on this fic! Now, to those of you who have been keeping an eye on A Promise Unspoken and wondered if the fics were companion pieces, continuations or each other or anything else, the answer is a resounding NO! What I have written for this fic has nothing to do with what happens in the other one, and vice versa. I'm just silly and began posting them around the same time. Thanks ever so much for the love. As always, a huge shout out to my fellow Thormione shippers, Freya Ishtar and Canimal! I love you both to death!. xx-Kitten.**

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 **Splinter**

 _By Kittenshhift17_

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 **Chapter 2: Black Magic**

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Hermione Granger had never been so humiliated and so terrified in all her life. The degradation of being captured in the first place had been bad enough. She'd been hauled before Voldemort and viciously beaten. She'd endure the Cruciatus curse for what felt like hours upon end. She'd been stripped naked and tormented. She'd known fear in that moment when the Snatchers who had captured her, Luna and Ginny had looked ready to rape them to death for the answers the evil bastard wanted.

She'd been tortured mercilessly for two days before she'd been locked in a cell in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor – the base of Voldemort's operations. But none of that pain, humiliation or fear compared to the horror she currently faced. They'd each been given over to some of Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters as what amounted to being sex-slaves. Tethered like dogs. Trapped in this terrible place.

When she'd been dragged into the main part of the Manor, bound in chains and still naked, shivering from the cold, Hermione had assumed the worst. She'd assumed the time had come when Voldemort would make a great show of murdering the three of them. They were loyal to Harry, after all. They would make a wonderful spectacle. She'd wanted to vomit when she realised he meant to make a spectacle, just not of their deaths. Hermione could hardy remain on her knees she shook so violently with fear and fury.

They'd each been given like gifts to three of the vilest Death Eaters still living. The idea that -according to Voldemort - she now belonged to Thorfinn Rowle made her want to commit murder. And she would. Just as soon as she was free they would learn the full extent of the blackness poisoning her soul. She was tired and hungry, weak with exhaustion from being deprived food and water since their capture. Her mouth tasted like something foul had died upon her tongue and her body ached all over. The bruises and cuts littering her skin were many and they twinged painfully every time she moved.

She also suspected she had broken a few ribs where she'd been repeatedly kicked like a mongrel dog by the torturers before this new horror had been announced. Her lip was bleeding from the blow Rowle had just dealt her, stinging sharply and drawing her back to the present with a horrifying gravity. She could read in his eyes that he had changed. The cruel bully she'd gone to school with was long gone.

All that was left was something twisted and dark. A monster. Hermione could see it in the deadened eyes gleaming from his disgustingly handsome face. His blonde hair hung about his shoulders haphazardly, making him look fierce like a lion. The cockiness and cruelty he'd displayed that she recalled from Hogwarts before he'd graduated and been made a Death Eater were gone now. Or at least sharpened so much that they could not simply be mistaken for youthful arrogance. It seemed the depths of depravity he'd plumbed had sunk to even darker pits of hell, and Hermione knew Darkness had consumed him.

He belonged to the evil world of cruelty and horror that she and her companions had been dragged into. If she had to guess from the way the slight bulge in his trousers was slowly growing as he glared at her hatefully, Hermione would say he enjoyed his lot in life with a dark perversion that unsettled her.

Sadist.

She learned a new depth to her fear when she looked into the eyes of Thorfinn Rowle as he leered at her so monstrously and promised his master he would take pleasure in bending her to his will. She hadn't seen him in four long years. Not since the end of the battle at Hogwarts when the Death Eaters had stormed the Astronomy Tower and Dumbledore had been murdered. She'd been fighting the war alongside Harry since then, working to save what lives they could and to end those of the bastards that worked for Voldemort.

She hadn't come up against Rowle in the field at all during that time, though others among the Order had and she'd heard rumours that he, Rabastan and Antonin were not the same men they'd been at the battle at Hogwarts. Whispers had been heard of the monstrous things they'd done on the orders of their Dark Lord. Of the terrible acts they committed in the name of the Dark and Voldemort. She had heard that their humanity had been stripped away slowly as they'd taken lives, brutalised victims and destroyed civilisations.

She just hadn't believed them until now.

Until she found herself naked on her knees, bound before him. Bruised and bloodied and utterly at his mercy. Dread slithered like a viper inside her belly, poisoning her limbs as he delivered threats before he struck her. Hermione's vision spotted black and her ears rang from the hit, blood exploding across her tongue and dribbling down her chin from the blow he dealt her.

She believed the rumours now. None of the humanity she recalled from their school days could be found gleaming in his glacial blue eyes now. Only cruelty glinted in those fathomless depths and Hermione bit back the words of provocation and fury he so easily inspired in her. She clenched her fists when he sneered into her face.

"What shall we dress you in, Pet?" Antonin Dolohov crooned to Ginny from next to her and Hermione glanced over to see the dark haired man still petting Ginny's skin as though she were a languid feline in his lap rather than a furious and fearful woman. His hand stroked up and down her back almost lovingly, the other tangled in her long red hair. Hermione could see the way his nails scraped almost gently against the base of Ginny's skull and she could tell her best friend didn't know what to do.

Ginny had always been a fighter. She could scuffle and wrestle with the best of them. She was rough and tumble, tough and strong in ways Hermione herself had never been. And Hermione could tell her redheaded friend had no idea what to make of the gentle yet horrifying treatment she was enduring. She looked like she didn't know if she should be squirming away from Dolohov or arching into his touch.

"I'll slit your throat, Dolohov, you see if I don't. There will come a time, not so long from now, when I will look down upon your lifeless corpse and smile," Ginny snarled at Dolohov, her blue eyes fixed hatefully on his face when he smoothed his hand all the way down her back once more. His eyes dared her to show even more of her fire when his hand slid lower and cupped her bum a little less gently.

As Hermione watched him she was reminded of a coiled viper. She didn't doubt that Antonin Dolohov would unleash a truly lethal side of himself if he felt it was called for. He would strike viciously, delivering poison and slithering away before he could ever even be truly noticed if he felt the need. Hermione knew Ginny was thinking the same thing, when the girl bit her bottom lip on the rest of the threats Hermione knew must be playing inside her mind.

Now was not the time for snarling and snapping like a beast. Hermione realised that quickly when she snuck another glance at Rowle and found him watching her with a cold kind of detachment as though she were some specimen under glass he was studying. Something unsightly and slimy he didn't want to touch yet felt the inexplicable, undeniable urge to poke at. She could see from his utterly blank expression that if she pushed him too hard he would do terrible things to her.

Things that were much worse than being tortured with the Cruciatus curse, beaten and deprived of food. Until now Voldemort had allowed the three of them to remain unsullied by his minions, and Hermione suspected it was entirely because he meant them as a gift for his loyalest soldiers. In any other situation Hermione might've scoffed at the idea of Thorfinn – of any of the Sacred Twenty-Eight - being gifted a muggleborn and expected to like it.

Of course, when that muggleborn was her and the gift was supposed to be him turning her into a mindless sex slave, swaying her to Stockholm syndrome and breaking her spirit, she found no humour in the notion. There was only fear. It poisoned her limbs and stole her already shallow breath from her lungs. The only thing inside of her beyond fear was a roaring inferno of rage that she was trying to tame until it could be effectively unleashed.

"Please don't do that, Rabastan," Luna's usually dreamy voice suddenly intruded on Hermione's psyche and Hermione glanced the other way to where Luna had been dragged to her feet. Lestrange had one hand collared around Luna's throat while the other trailed slowly south, caressing her bare breasts and stomach. Then lower, his fingers tangling into the blonde pubic hair dusting Luna's pelvic bone. She wriggled in his grip, clearly uncomfortable with being touched that way by him.

Hermione was surprised at Luna's manners and her stern tone. She sounded more like she was scolding a disobedient child than being sexually assaulted by a monster. Lestrange ignored her in favour of cupping his hand against her naked crotch, pressing firmly and making Luna squirm. Beside her, Ginny was being led away by Dolohov, who clearly wanted to see what kinds of degrading, horrible things their master had given them to dress the girls in for the revel.

She was acutely aware as she looked back up at Rowle that everything she had endured thus far would pale in comparison to the horror that was coming. Not simply because it was Rowle and he loathed her as much, if not more, than Hermione despised him. No, the true horror would be the sexual assault she knew was coming. Fear clawed at her psyche when she realised that Rowle, and perhaps other men and women as well, were going to rape her. Publicly. All for the twisted perversion of a megalomaniac and his horde.

Her body would be violated.

Hermione wanted to vomit, her stomach churning now with stark terror. The act of sexual intercourse itself wasn't what had Hermione feeling sick to her stomach. It had been many long years since she had surrendered her virtue to Ron. In fact, ordinarily she and Ron shagged as a way of reconfirming there was still a little good left in this terrible, broken world. She was no stranger to the inner workings of intercourse.

No, the fear that gripped Hermione tightly and caused her to quake in revulsion was the idea that the one who would now be using her body for his pleasure was as vile a creature as Thorfinn Rowle. The thought of his hands on her delicate flesh, of his…. She couldn't even think it.

She'd been expecting to be raped since their capture, but to know that Thorfinn Rowle would be her rapist and her tormenter made Hermione sick to her stomach. She wanted to crawl away and die. She wanted to escape. She wanted her freedom with a burning intensity that she knew a sod like Rowle would never break.

Hermione hissed in agony when Rowle suddenly seized her throat with the hand not twisted into her hair and used the grip to haul her to her feet. He jerked her hard, lifting her ragged form with more ease than Hermione had expected and she hated the way she felt so helpless in her chains, her body wobbling precariously before falling against his own hard, lean form. She curled her lip in disgust when his grip on her hair forced her to meet his gaze.

"I'm going to make you wish you'd never been born," he promised, his warm breath caressing her tear-stained cheeks in a way that would've been intimate and pleasant were he anyone else.

"And I'm going to make you rue the day you ever learned my name," Hermione delivered a promise of her own. She would do so with her dying breath if need be.

"What did I say about talking?" he growled in her face, his eyes flashing dangerously and Hermione pursed her lips, looking away from his eyes and over to where Dolohov seemed to be having fun treating Ginny like a life-sized doll. He was currently in the process of dressing the pretty redhead all in tight black leather, having vanished her chains but used the Imperius curse to get her to cooperate. He stroked his hand down her back often, petting her like she was his beloved pet rather than his prisoner.

Hermione hated herself a little for wishing she could trade places with Ginny or Luna. For wishing she hadn't been the unlucky one stuck with Rowle.

"Don't ignore me when I speak to you, Mudblood!" Rowle snarled at her, his hand tightening on her throat until Hermione began to choke. She felt her hatred for him flare in her eyes and he seemed to revel in it. His nails bit into the delicate flesh of her neck, breaking the skin and leaving a collection of half-crescent shaped wounds along the column of her throat.

He released her just before she could pass out, spots swimming in her vision dizzily. She hated him all the more for the way he hauled her towards the table covered in costumes and wicked instruments of deviousness. He never released his grip on her hair, dragging her cruelly in spite of the way she stumbled.

Humiliation scalded through her veins, heating her blood and boiling towards a fit of rage when he picked up an unforgiving leather collar with a long silver chain attached, wrapping it around her throat tight enough to bruise but not so tight as to cut off her breathing or her pulse.

"You bastard," Hermione snarled at him, the chains on her hands clanking when she swiped at him viciously, balling both fists together and swinging them at his head.

He smirked cruelly, dodging the blow and jerking nastily on the chain around her neck. He'd wrapped the silver chain around his hand firmly as though she were a mongrel dog and he, her unforgiving master.

"Go ahead and keep fighting me Granger," he taunted, "See where that gets you."

Hermione bit back tears of pain when she began to cough thanks to the sharp jerk on her throat.

"Now, what else do we have here to try and make you look decent enough for me to want to fuck?" he asked, clearly enjoying insulting her though he feigned talking to himself.

"No!" Hermione growled when his hands lingered over a ball gag. He glanced at her wickedly but Hermione realised with a jolt that he wanted to hear her scream when he didn't go for it. Instead he picked up a leather harness that glorified but did nothing to conceal or impinge access to her private parts.

He didn't permit her anything else and Hermione snarled obscenities at him when his unforgiving hands caressed her flesh as he fitted the harness to her bruised and beaten body. The feel of him touching her made her shudder with revulsion.

"Pease don't… ungh," Luna's voice whimpered suddenly from behind her and Hermione glanced back in horror to see that Lestrange had just speared his fingers inside Luna's sex.

Luna's head was thrown back against his shoulder, her bound hands clutching at his wrist as though she couldn't decide if she wanted to pull his hand away or press it closer. Her eyes were clamped shut, a little frown arranged on her face. Hermione lunged for them, trying to rescue her friend and she stumbled painfully, coughing and choking when she was jerked just short of reaching the pair by Rowle. She whimpered involuntarily when he used the chain on her collar to drag her naked body across the floor until she was once again sitting at his feet.

"Uh, uh, uh, Granger," Rowle clicked his tongue at her disapprovingly, "That one's Rabastan's to play with. Come here!"

Hermione cried out involuntarily when he hauled her up by her collar and her hair until she was pressed back against his hard body. When his hand left her hair to torment her left breast, tweaking it unforgivingly and making her cry out again, Hermione gritted her teeth. He clearly enjoyed the way she squirmed, trying desperately to evade his touch as panic began to set into her mind. There was no escaping him.

She had no wand, no weapons with which to defend herself. All she had was teeth and nails and what little strength there was left in her abused body. Hermione didn't doubt he would take pleasure in hearing her beg him for mercy. That he would enjoy listening to her plead with him not to fuck her, not to rape her, not to hurt her.

And Hermione resolved that she wouldn't allow him that pleasure. She might not be able to hide her fear and her disgust with him, but she could deny him the right to have her beg.

"When I get free, I'm going to revel in ripping you limb from limb," Hermione snarled at him when he toyed with both of her nipples and chuckled darkly at the way she squirmed. His fingers were cold against her abused flesh, his arms around her torso tight and painful against the bruises others had left on her.

"I'd love to watch you try," he crooned to her, his lips to her ear like a lover.

He still had the chain of her collar wrapped around his hand, and Hermione startled when he used wandless magic to vanish the chains on her ankles.

"Let's go," Dolohov muttered when Luna began to whimper at whatever Lestrange was doing to her. Hermione couldn't tell if it was from pleasure, pain, disgust or a terrible combination of the three.

"The Dark Lord doesn't like to be kept waiting," Rowle agreed, his hands leaving her breasts and shoving hard between her shoulder blades, propelling her in the direction Voldemort had gone. The closer they drew to the door the worse the sound coming from within grew and the more dread consumed what little hope she had left, threatening to extinguish it completely. Screaming could be heard and Hermione didn't doubt torture was taking place beyond the door.

Her stomach churned with bile when Dolohov opened the door, leading Ginny through it before Rowle shoved her again, causing her to stumble. Horror consumed her at the terrible acts of depravity going on the revel hall. Everywhere she looked there was blood, murder, rape, and other sickening displays carrying on. Things she never wanted to think about.

Young women, undoubtedly muggles, hung from their hands, bound to overhead railings while monsters ravaged them. Some carved pieces of flesh from their victims, others rutted wildly into them. Hermione closed her eyes against the horror when Rowle shoved her past a section where the truly fucked up was being performed, trying to block out the sight of the children being tortured and raped.

The noises filling the room made her heart race with terror. Screams, burning, hoarse cries of spells being used on victims and of sexual sounds of pleasure assaulted her ears. Worse still was the scent in the air. Burning flesh, blood and the sickly sweet scent of death choked her nostrils, making her cough and heave dryly. There was a stickiness of red blood beneath her bare feet when she was shoved and dragged by Rowle up onto a pedestal type stage in the centre of the room.

Voldemort looked on from a throne across the room and Hermione threw up in her mouth at the sight of a witch a few years younger than Hermione herself, bound and kneeling before the evil snake-like man, her head bobbing up and down in Voldemort's lap. His expression was almost bored, despite what was happening to his lower half, until he caught sight of his three favourite soldiers and newest prisoners.

Hermione was horrified when Rowle lifted her bound hands above her head, affixing her chains to a hook there and leaving her body bared completely. She tried to keep her head down, her hair falling over her face to hide her identity a time longer. She felt her heart clench for Luna when her gaze strayed to the girl.

It seemed Lestrange was much too intent on debauching her to care about anything else, including his lord's orders. Luna's bound hands had been lifted to loop backwards around his neck, exposing her body. He'd not chosen to bedeck her with any clothing or accessories of degradation. In fact he hadn't even stopped fingering her. Her head rested against his shoulder, her mouth open a little, allowing the escape of soft whimpers. She stumbled as he forced her up the stairs to join Hermione and Ginny, all without ceasing his ministrations against her clit.

Hermione suspected the girl was too lost in the sensations he was inflicting upon her to even recall where she was or who was ravishing her so. Her heart sank for Luna, knowing that she was already beyond caring. Beside her, her bound hands also hooked above her head, all decked out in leather but for her privates, Ginny was being roused from the Imperius curse.

She gasped raggedly when she blinked away the effect, her gaze widening in horror and fear. Hermione met her gaze fearfully. She could tell Ginny was about to start fighting and she knew the salivating crowd were hungry for it.

"My dear friends," Voldemort's voice came, cutting off all other sounds as everyone turned their attention to him, "We have a special treat this evening. Before you are the three loyalest witches in the service of Harry Potter and his ridiculous Order."

The crowd cheered and laughed, sneering at Hermione, Ginny and Luna; laughing when Lestrange drew a mewling moan from Luna.

"Yes, my friends. We have captured Harry Potter's girlfriend, Ginevra Weasley," Voldemort said and Ginny screamed suddenly from next to her. Hermione paled at the sight of Dolohov twisting her nipples nastily.

"His close confidant, Luna Lovegood," Voldemort continued. Luna groaned thickly when Lestrange ground his thumb against the blonde girl's clit unforgivingly.

"And finally, our second biggest threat and Harry Potter's mudblood best friend, Hermione Granger," Hermione heard herself introduced, before excruciating pain assaulted her, pressing in on her in the most indescribable way. A scream tore from her lungs, her body bowing and writhing as Rowle used the Cruciatus curse on her to get her to scream. When he stopped just as suddenly Hermione wondered how he'd known he wouldn't get her to make a noise by sexually assaulting her.

The crowd was sneering and laughing at the three of them, cat-calling with what they thought should be done to Harry's loyal followers and Hermione shuddered, hitting the end of her chain and being dragged back when Rowle's hands curled over her hips, his nails digging into her thighs.

"Show them what we think of loyalty to Harry Potter," Voldemort commanded of Rowle, Dolohov and Lestrange.

Hermione closed her eyes at the horror she knew would follow.


	3. Chapter 3:Branded

**TRIGGER WARNINGS APPLY TO THIS CHAPTER. IF YOU HAVE TRIGGERS, DO NOT READ THIS FIC.**

* * *

 **Splinter**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Branded**

* * *

The urge to break her was so strong that Thorfinn couldn't deny it. At his master's command Thorfinn turned his wand on the bitch again.

"Crucio!" he snarled, directly into her ear, his body tightening deliciously as she writhed against her chains. It felt good having her in her place, powerless to fight him off yet trying desperately to thwart him anyway. As her body bowed taut, her arse ground against his groin and Thorfinn felt the feral monster that lived within him roar to life.

Cutting off the spell, Thorfinn lathered two fingers with his spit before driving them into Granger. She jolted in surprise and agony at being brutalised so soon after the horrible pain of the Cruciatus curse. He nearly groaned at the feel of her body, tight and hot, gripping his fingers needily.

He wasn't gentle with her. He didn't take his time. The monster he'd become had no inclination toward such sissy nonsense. It only cared about pain and lust and anguish. When she writhed in his grip, trying to escape the horror, pain and pleasure he was inflicting on her, Thorfinn felt his smile turn feral.

He knew she was fighting desperately against the urge to beg him not to hurt her. Not to fuck her. To begin him to save her from her terrible fate. He knew the little bitch wouldn't break so easily and he revelled in the very idea of forcing her to it. She tried desperately to snap her legs closed, squirming as she tried to evade his unrelenting fingers and Thorfinn wasn't having any of it.

Before she could think of mule kicking him or trying to swing from the hook where her hands were bound, Thorfinn scraped his nails against the walls of her cunt, relishing the wetness that had begun to form despite her disgust – her body betraying her. Withdrawing his hand quickly, Thorfinn spat into his palm, smearing the liquid on his cock before jerking her hips back towards him, canting them to take him.

"No! No, no no, no, no," she snarled, fighting harder when she felt the head of his cock nudging at her entrance. She went ballistic in his hold, desperately trying to escape her fate and a ragged sob of horror escaped her when he rammed himself inside her barbarically.

Sweet Salazar she was so fucking tight!

Thorfinn would admit that while he'd gone into this intending to break the bitch methodically, he lost all reason then. How dare the filthy mudblood be so fucking tight and hot? Her writhing body gripped his cock, milking it greedily. When she swung from the hook Thorfinn simply lifted her thighs, bending her backwards like an archer's bow and wrapping her legs around his hips. He drove into her hard, slamming himself against her until the raw slapping sound of his flesh smacking hers wetly drowned out the sound of the jeering crowd.

Her curses and oaths were like a symphony in his ears, promising violence and retribution. Thorfinn loved it. He didn't think there was anything sweeter than the sound of a threat on Mudblood Granger's lips.

"Is that the best you can fucking do?" she snarled at him furiously, clearly resorting to taunting him in an attempt to keep from begging for mercy.

Before she could even shriek, Thorfinn dropped her, snagging her chains off the hook and spinning her to face him. Her face belied her surprise and then her fear when he lifted her bound hands until the chain looped around the back of his neck before he scooped her up easily and impaled the bitch on his cock once more. She arched into the intrusion, whether from a need for more or an attempt to evade him, Thorfinn didn't care.

Instead he dropped to the ground, slamming her back down hard on the stage of the pedestal and driving into her like a conquering barbarian. He buried his teeth against her breast, suckling the flesh greedily into his mouth, biting down hard on her nipple when it pebbled under his tongue.

She clawed at his shoulders, snarling and writhing beneath him, her legs kicking his viciously as she tried to gain purchase and so squeeze his torso hard enough to bruise. Thorfinn smirked. She couldn't bite back her scream when he drove into her hard whilst biting down on her flesh and Thorfinn revelled in the sound. The crowd cheered in approval. Thorfinn blocked them out. He hated fucking with an audience. He blocked out the things Antonin and Rabastan were doing to their pets too, focusing all of his energy on breaking the mudblood.

He gripped her hard enough to bruise, slapping her across the face when the bitch bit his shoulder savagely. Her eyes sparkled with fury.

"Is that all you've got? You're pathetic!" she challenged him again, clearly enraged rather than defeated despite being impaled on his cock. Thorfinn hit her again. He wasn't usually a fan of such brutality unless it was ordered by his master. He didn't like hitting women. Of course, generally women didn't spit in his face like Granger had just done. Losing his grip on the last shreds of his humanity, Thorfinn lost his temper. The monster inside him broke free and Thorfinn saw the flash of terror in her eyes when he roared in her face furiously.

Swiping the spittle off his skin, he punched her as hard as he could before fucking her even harder. Her back skidded against the blood-slick floor until they toppled right off the edge of the stage but Thorfinn didn't stop fucking her. Not until she shattered in his hold. He hadn't broken her. Far from it. But despite her fear, hatred and disgust, he'd forced her into orgasm and Thorfinn knew that was going to fuck with her head.

He had to play this smart, Thorfinn realised. Granger was a logical witch. She would take far more cunning and far less sheer force to become malleable to his will. But Thorfinn had always enjoyed a challenge.

He let go within her, his body emptying cum inside her in hot, sticky spurts, splashing against her womb claimingly. She sobbed then as he unhooked her arms from around his neck and he pulled out of her. Thorfinn refused to release her. He wasn't nearly done with her and she sobbed and screeched in disgust when he dragged her over the blood-slick floor to the fireplace across the room.

"Flick! Bring me my brand," Thorfinn snarled when the house elf appeared, looking terrified. The Elf winked out and popped back in again a few moments later, bringing him the tool he'd asked for. Thorfinn stuck the end of it into the roaring fireplace, keeping one hand on Granger's chains and dragging her with him every time he moved. He didn't dare leave her unattended, not trusting the rest of these fucking animals not to try and have a go at Potter's bitch. They'd all try to fuck her if they could.

A fact that was proven when Macnair appeared out of nowhere, snagging her ankles and trying to tug her beneath himself. Thorfinn reacted violently. The bitch was his.

"MINE!" Thorfinn roared like a terrifying, insolent child, swinging at the big bastard with the brand he'd just pulled out of the fireplace.

Granger cowered away from Macnair in terror and Thorfinn smirked when she skidded herself closer to his feet. She was covered in the blood of others and a good deal of her own. She clutched at his denim clad thigh, wiggling around until she was partially hidden behind his knees. The chain in his hand that was attached to the collar around her neck tinkled softly every time she moved.

"What the fuck was that for?" Macnair demanded angrily, spitting blood at Granger as he got to his feet, shaking off the blow Thorfinn had dealt him.

"Don't fucking touch my mudblood," Thorfinn snarled at the elder wizard.

"I don't see your fucking name on her, Rowle," Macanir challenged, never one to like being told no. Especially not by Thorfinn. There was a nasty history between them and Macnair had never forgiven the fact that Thorfinn had been elevated to through the Death Eater ranks to be so favoured by the Dark Lord.

Thorfinn stuck the instrument he clutched back into the flames until it glowed red hot, his gaze never wavering from Macnair's even as he jerked Granger's chains until she stood beside him. She coughed and cowered into him, trying to tuck herself behind him when Macnair made a grope at her exposed cunt.

Thorfinn swatted the man away before giving Granger a shove until he had her positioned where he wanted her. She'd been too fearful of Macnair to pay attention to what he was doing and when Thorfinn branded the Rowle family crest into the exposed flesh on her right hip she shrieked in agony at such a volume that many of the surrounding revellers stopped to look and then to cheer.

"Now my fucking name's on her. Don't touch her again or I'll slit your throat," Thorfinn threatened Macnair while Granger fell to the floor. The scent of burned flesh filled his nose and Thorfinn smirked down at the witch at his feet.

She'd already broken a little bit. Enough at least to use him as protection against anyone else who might think about fucking her. The possessive monster within Thorfinn borne of being a spoiled only-child liked that. He liked that she didn't want anyone else touching her. She didn't want him touching her either, but that was neither here nor there. She'd cowered into him rather than away from both of them. And he'd just branded her flesh with his sigil. She would bare it for the rest of her days.

"You fucking bastard!" she screamed when the pain subsided enough that she could form words.

"Shut up, whore!" Thorfinn growled right back, his hands seizing her upper arms and yanking her closer before spinning her in his hold once more. She made a strangled sound of pained protest when he shoved her hands roughly onto the mantle before canting her hips and driving his cock deep inside her once more.

She bucked against him in protest and Thorfinn was careful to keep his hands wrapped around hers on the mantle. The urge to grip her hips and drive into her harder was strong, but he didn't want to tear or in any way mangle the brand he'd just burned into her flesh. She needed to know she belonged to him. And everyone else who saw her needed to fucking know it too so they wouldn't touch what was fucking his.

He was a possessive man at his core and for all that he loathed her and thought often about wringing her scrawny Mudblood neck, she was his now. The Dark Lord had given her over to him and Thorfinn would be fucking damned if anyone laid a single bloody finger on her. No one touched what was his and he didn't fucking share. Besides, he needed to bend her to his will. What better way than by isolating her from all others but him until her need for human contact drove her to accept and even adore him?

Thorfinn fucked her hard, driving himself into her until she whimpered in pain, unable to articulate that she couldn't stand it anymore. He wore her down until she went limp, ceasing her struggles, ceasing to challenge his ability to break her. She'd been starved, beaten and tortured for days before being given over to him and the effects of his brutalisation ate at the last of her energy reserves.

When she fell to incoherent utterances and began trying to hide her face against his arms, rubbing her cheek against him like a sleepy kitten, Thorfinn smirked wickedly. The crowd had long since fallen back to their own debauchery and Thorfinn himself was bored with the proceedings.

Tucking himself back into his trousers when he was done fucking the little mudblood, Thorfinn scooped her up into his arms off the couch he'd bent her over when her knees had given out by the mantle. She weighed next to nothing in his hold, he noticed idly as he carried her from the hall. Her head lolled against his shoulder, her body hanging limp in his arms.

Thorfinn caught sight of Rabastan scooping up the girl of Lovegood when he saw Thorfinn leaving, clearly having been waiting for the chance to escape with the blonde. Rabastan always hated attending the revels. He might put on a good show when it was asked of him, but the man was private about his kinks. Lovegood looked far more pliant to Rabastan's will than Granger was to Thorfinn's. Her eyes were red and swollen from tears, her lips puffy and bloodied where she must've gnawed on them as Rabastan inflicted pleasure on her unrelentingly.

"You branded the mudblood," he observed when he joined Thorfinn, exiting the hall alongside him, the petite little blonde in his hold looking dazed and spent, her head tucked beneath his chin.

"Had to warn Macnair and these other cunts away," Thorfinn shrugged, causing Granger to whimper softly in his hold.

"Yeah. Right," Rabastan said and Thorfinn caught the look Rabastan gave him. The disbelieving one that said Rabastan had known of Thorfinn's kink regarding Mudblood Granger since his Hogwarts days.

Thorfinn remained stoic, refusing to give anything away. The fact was that he loathed and craved the filthy little whore in equal parts and had for a long time. Longer than he cared to admit. He wouldn't say he fancied her, though for a time he'd wondered if he might. No, he held no romantic interest in the little bitch, but there was no denying that more than once he had fantasised about this very idea. About having her given to him to use in any way he saw fit. The idea of possessing her was one that had tormented him for longer than he cared to admit.

He supposed that made him all the more fucked up. He didn't love her. He didn't fancy her. In fact he didn't even like her. He loathed her to the deepest, blackest places of his soul, but he'd craved to be the one to break her spirit. To snuff out that defiance and fire she'd always had. To exert himself over her until she learned her place.

"What you do to that one?" Thorfinn asked rather than commenting on Rabastan's ideas.

"Fucked her real hard," Rabastan smirked, "She likes it."

Thorfinn doubted that. The little thing probably loathed Rabastan and would most likely try to kill him one some point in the future, though she did look strangely relaxed in Rabastan's hold.

"Did you know her from before all this?" Thorfinn asked, glancing sideways at his friend and fellow Death Eater.

"A little," Rabastan admitted, "She's the year below the Mudblood at Hogwarts and she was at the Department of Mysteries Battle. Weird too. Always dances to her own jig, even among the Order."

"Bit like you then," Thorfinn needled the man with a smirk.

Rabastan's smirk widened at that but he didn't answer. Thorfinn watched the way he turned away and into the fireplace, still cradling the blonde in his arms as he reached for a pinch of Floo Powder. Thorfinn would swear he saw Rabastan press a kiss to the top of Lovegood's head before the man disappeared in a whoosh of green flames, bound for Lestrange Hall.

Following suit, Thorfinn stepped into the flames and dropped Floo Powder before shouting out his destination – Rowle Tower – clutching the muggle-born witch a little closer in his arms so she wouldn't end up concussed any more than she already might be after he's hit her. Glancing down at the battered little mudblood in his own arms, Thorfinn curled his lip at her. She was covered in blood, dirt and grime from being held prisoners so long, and now with soot from the Floo travel. He could also see sticky ropes of his cum between her thighs. She needed a bath. Nodding to himself he strode towards his chambers with purpose.

The monster in him might still be crowing for her blood, but she wasn't up to another round of being fucked and Thorfinn wasn't much interested in beating her without provocation. She was so limp in his arms that he felt a pinprick of fear for her health. The Dark Lord had commanded him to keep her alive and charged him with her continued health and protection until such time that Potter attempted to rescue her and her little friends.

Which meant Thorfinn was going to have to take care of her, he supposed. When he reached his bedchambers, Thorfinn carried her directly into the washroom. He set her on the edge of the enormous bathtub before leaning over to run the water. When he turned back to her, she was sitting dejectedly, staring at his feet.

For the time being, she looked broken.

But Thorfinn wasn't fool enough to think it would last for long. She was simply too tired, too sore and too close to collapse to spit venom at him right them. His nimble fingers made short work of the collar he'd wrapped around her throat and the harness he'd put her in. She flinched back violently from his touch as he removed the garments, almost toppling into the tub.

Thorfinn caught her before she could, knowing the scalding water needed to be tempered, and that falling in would cause her agony if the heat of the water hit the brand he'd burned into her flesh.

"Hold still, Granger," he commanded her when he turned his attention to the brand on her hip. It was a perfect replication of the Rowle family crest, red and angry against her flesh. He'd held it there a little too long, causing the skin to melt to the metal of the brand and peel away. Blood had leaked down from the wounds and the flesh was terribly blistered. Thorfinn used his wand to sterilize the wound before he took out a healing potion for cuts and abrasions from his vanity cupboard.

Granger hissed in agony when Thorfinn swiped his fingers gently over the mark.

"You branded me," she accused in a small voice, "What is it? What mark have you left on me?"

Thorfinn could tell from the way her voice wavered that she was fighting back tears.

"The Rowle crest. Anyone who sees you naked for the rest of your life will know that you belong to me," Thorfinn told her, a cruel smirk curling across his lips at the very thought.

Clearly Granger wasn't as thrilled with that idea. She slapped his hand away from the mark as a terrible sob rattled in her chest. Thorfinn wondered then if he might've broken her. Her whole body shuddered with the power of the sobs that wracked her. Tears dropped hot and fast against his skin when he restrained her to keep her from clawing at the mark. She fought him feebly, barely achieving more than a squirmy puppy would with her efforts.

"You bastard," she cried, her voice thick with tears, "How could you do this to me?"

"You should be grateful," Thorfinn sneered at her, "No one else will lay a finger on you if they know you're mine. None of them will dare. That brand protects you, Granger. I protected you by putting it there."

Granger cried harder at that, her body trembling violently.

"The person I…" she sobbed brokenly, "Need the most….. protection… from…. is YOU!"

Thorfinn couldn't argue with that.

Well, he could. In all fairness his protection would spare her some of the many horrors he knew his brethren were capable of. But it was true that she would need to be protected from him. He would use her. He would break her. He would violate her again and again until she stopped riling for release and instead begged him to fuck her. When he was through, the proud little mudblood would be his perfectly obedient little mouse, ready to jump at his every whim.

"There is no protection from me," Thorfinn told her honestly, "And crying isn't going to change that. Won't change the fact that I branded you either. You're mine, Princess. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will all be for you."

She cried even harder, the fight draining out of her in favour of despair and Thorfinn released his grip on her bruised wrists slowly. Leaving her perched on the edge of the tub Thorfinn found his stash of Epsom salts and poured some of them into the bath, along with a little scented oil. He adjusted the taps and the temperature of the water until it wouldn't aggravate her burn too much after the initial sting.

Stripping himself of his clothes until he was as naked as she was, Thorfinn stepped into the bathtub before he scooped her up against his chest. She didn't have the energy to fight him off or even resist. She had curled herself into a defensive ball as though that would protect her and she refused to uncurl until he lowered her into the water, setting her down between his knees.

She whimpered at the agony he didn't doubt she was experiencing from the brutal treatment he'd dealt her. He knew the fastening on his jeans and his rough shagging had torn her flesh and her hip probably stung horribly. Thorfinn held out his hand to summon a pain potion from the open cabinet where he kept a medicine stock, unstoppering it and reaching around her face to administer it to her.

"What are you doing?" she asked fearfully when he allowed her to become used to the water enough that she unfurled, soaking her undoubtedly aching legs in the warmth of the water. She had begun to shiver from the cold of being naked for so long and Thorfinn was surprised by the strange urge he felt to bathe the sticky blood and grime from her skin.

He'd never felt the urge to wash another person before, but there was something about seeing Granger so fragile that he found himself doing just that. The bath water was stained red by the time he was through, scrubbing almost gently until her skin was clean. When it was, he pulled the plug on the tub and let the stained water drain. She was still hunched in on herself, clearly still afraid of him, but Thorfinn chose not to push her.

He felt tired. He'd fucked her hard and he'd had a long day.

He hated attending revels. He hated the smell of the foul things his brethren indulged in. He hated the sight of such terrible things. The monster in him might enjoy being set free to push the limits of his humanity to new lows, but Thorfinn had never lowered himself so far as to enjoy brutalising others except on his Lord's orders. He carried out the terrible deeds asked on him without blinking, but he would never choose to voluntarily do them.

Oh, he might willingly fuck violently, or torture. That was a different matter. He might also suffer a perverted kink when it came to the trembling witch sitting between his bent up knees and trying hard not to touch him. But most of the time he managed to control the monster inside his soul.

When tub had drained, Thorfinn used magic to wash away the last stained dregs. Granger was still crying softly, though she seemed to have run out of the energy it took to sob so violently. She shivered when he filled the tub once more, adding the same extras as he had before and reclining back against the edge of the tub.

"Lean back," he instructed Granger in a low voice, noticing the way she jumped at the command as though she'd almost forgotten he was there. She shook her head no, her back to him, her face hidden against her knees.

Thorfinn sighed wearily.

"Granger, do you want to get pregnant?" he asked her seriously and she stiffened in horror at the mention, "No? Then lean back so I can perform the contraception charm."

He was careful with her as he looped his arm around her waist, gently tugging the battered girl backward until she was reclining against his chest. She stayed tense, her hands clenched into fists. Thorfinn ignored that for the moment, his wand in his hand. He pressed the tip to her abdomen lightly, feeling her shudder as the magic swept over her skin, sinking into her slowly.

A little noise escaped her as it did. A breathy little moan as though the feel of the magic seeping into her skin was a pleasurable sensation. When the charm was done, Thorfinn laid his wand on the edge of the bath out of her reach. He didn't doubt she would lunge for it if she thought she could get it.

"Open your legs," he murmured, nosing the hair away from her face so he could speak softly, directly into her ear.

She did the opposite, snapping them closed even tighter and squirming until they crossed over one another.

Thorfinn didn't bother telling her again. Keeping one arm looped around her to hold her back against his chest, he snaked the hand of his other arm between her legs. She was too weak to put up much of a fight and she whimpered when his fingers met the abused flesh of her sex.

"Don't" she muttered, still squirming, "Don't touch me. Please don't."

Thorfinn knew it would break her just a little more to have him do so when she'd said please.

"Got to," he murmured to her instead, sliding his fingers between the swollen lips of her passage and pressing two of them inside her slowly.

"Why? Please don't, Rowle," she cried, more tears escaping her.

"You're full of my cum," he replied in a low, husky voice, "Do you want to stay that way?"

She flopped against him when he told her that, boneless in her utter despair. Thorfinn didn't know why, but he kind of liked the idea of his cum filling her up. He didn't, however, like the idea of it leaking out later and making a mess. Granger cried in his hold, her knees falling open and allowing him to scissor his fingers inside her, opening her wide with them to wash away the fluid he'd filled her with.

Long after the sticky mess was gone from her passage, Thorfinn continued his slow and methodical ministrations. Her sobs died off eventually and Thorfinn felt a little smirk slide across his face when after what felt like an eternity, her breath hitched.

"Don't," she breathed, the nails of one hand digging into his bare thigh where it bracketed hers.

But Thorfinn couldn't stop. There was something addictive about the feel of her silky flesh against his fingers. Something about the way, despite her hatred of him and her disgust at his actions, she was unable to help responding to his touch that made him feel powerful. One of her hands moved to seize his wrist, trying futilely to pull him away from her. He knew he ought to. He'd brutalised her. It was probably causing her as much pleasure as it did pain, and yet he couldn't resist continuing.

"Stop," she whispered. Thorfinn didn't.

Tilting his head a little so he could see her face, Thorfinn watched the way she began to unravel. Her eyes were closed, her face clean but still damaged. A bruise and a nasty cut marred the side of her face where he'd hit her during the revel. Her split lip had been caught by her teeth as though she was trying to hold back a moan. Thorfinn knew he was getting to her. He knew that in the end their hatred for one another, their disgust for one another, even the fact that she was his prisoner and he her jailer, all meant nothing.

Human nature didn't care about any of those things. Just about the fact that he was using his body to stimulate hers in the way nature intended and so reacted accordingly.

"Stop," she whispered again, her hand around his wrist seeming to war with her mind, unsure if she was supposed to be pulling him close or snatching him away from her.

Before he could think better of his actions, Thorfinn pressed his thumb lightly to the little bundle of nerves at the top of her sex, drawing it in soft circles.

"Ungh," she moaned softly and Thorfinn knew he had her. She arched into the touch, her hips rolling in spite of herself and Thorfinn knew her mind had closed off. Nothing mattered to her in that moment but the feel of his hands on her body. Unable to resist the urge, Thorfinn used his free hand to cup one of her pert breasts tenderly. His thumb drew soft circles against her nipple to match those he drew on her clit and her felt her abused, battered, weakened body go taut against him.

She made another little sound as he pressed the orgasm upon her tenderly.

Thorfinn was unnerved by the sense of sweet satisfaction that washed over him as she relaxed back against him fully. Her eyes stayed closed, her body lax against his chest. Removing his hand slowly from her sex, Thorfinn trailed his finger over the soft skin of her taut stomach. It was silky beneath the water, despite the bruises. He felt a little chuckle of approval escape him when her breathing evened out and she fell asleep in his hold.

He didn't doubt she was exhausted. In fact, he suspected it had been a long time indeed since she'd had a full night's sleep. War had that effect. She'd probably not been as bone tired as she was then since before she'd left Hogwarts. Thorfinn didn't bother with trying to wake her. He didn't feel like moving from the warm water just yet, and there was something unexpectedly comforting about having the little witch sleep against him so soundly.


	4. Chapter 4:Treacherous

**A/N:** **Hello, thanks ever so much for all your reviews. You're so amazing! xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Splinter**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Treacherous**

* * *

Hermione woke with a start to the feel of being hoisted into the air. Her body was dripping wet and warm in a way she hadn't been in a long time. Blinking in confusion, Hermione tried to make sense of her surroundings. She whimpered when a spear of pain spiralled through her as the man lifting her jostled her, trying to keep his grip on her slippery body.

"You awake, Granger?" the all too familiar rumble of Thorfinn Rowle assaulted her ears and Hermione writhed in his hold, hissing in another gasp of pain when the movement cursed her cracked ribs to ache sharply

"Don't touch me!" she hissed, her hands moving to keep her dignity instinctively before the barrage of memories slammed into her and she recalled all he'd done to her.

What did having him see her naked matter now when he'd seen her naked since she'd been thrown to the floor at his feet and told she was to be his pet? What was the point in trying to hide her body from his gaze when he'd had every inch of her body, literally branding her as his for all of time?

"Easy," he warned when she glared up into his face hatefully, jerking away when he tried to reach for her again.

He narrowed his eyes on her then before shoving a towel into her hands and leaving her to dry herself. Hermione's cheeks flooded with embarrassment when he turned to drying himself, making her recall she'd been in the bath with him before she'd fallen asleep. She wanted to cry again when she recalled the gentle way he'd cared for her after having brutalised her in that terrible place at Malfoy Manor.

She'd been shocked at the feel of his hands gently rubbing over her skin with a bar of soap, washing away the blood and grime that had accumulated on her skin. She hated him for that. When he'd beaten her and raped her it had been easy to rile and rage against him. To fight him with all her might. To tell herself he was nothing but another one of Voldemort's monsters.

How was she supposed to recall how monstrous he could be when he'd taken such care of her? He'd given her pain-potions and healing salves for the cuts, bruises and burns that littered her skin. And then he'd touched her so gently that if Hermione had closed her eyes, she'd have been able to pretend it was Ron's hand smoothing over her flesh so carefully. Hermione didn't know how to reconcile that.

She also had no idea what to do with the knowledge that he'd thought of things like contraception for what he'd done to her. The fact that he'd cared enough to wash the results of his violation free of her aching body made Hermione hate him all the more for being just that little bit less a monster.

She chose not to think about what he'd done to her after he'd washed her clean. She could simply pretend it hadn't happened. She didn't know why she hadn't put up more of a fight. She certainly wasn't attracted to him and she didn't want his hands on her body at all.

There had just been something so mesmerizing about the feel of his fingers gently making love to her in the aftermath of such brutality that Hermione had let it carry her away. She had closed her eyes and pretended they were someone else's finger stroking her flesh so attentively.

Scrubbing at her skin with the towel she'd been given, Hermione wobbled unsteadily on her feet. Black spots swam in her vision and she realised she was dangerously close to passing out, despite the nap she'd taken in the bath.

"Need to get some food into you," Rowle said quietly, catching her against his chest when she stumbled and began to fall. Hermione hated him all the more for sounding so concerned for her health. She knew it didn't spring from any actual care for her wellbeing or even any misguided effort to do the right thing. He just didn't want to disobey his master by letting her come to further harm that might result in her death.

"I _hate_ you," Hermione whispered, trying to push herself away from him and finding that he'd put his arms around her, clearly intent on carrying her rather than allowing her to walk by herself. Hermione groaned in agony at the feel of being scooped up. She'd managed to wrap her towel around her body to hide her modesty, but the fabric pulled at the brand on her hip and the position put a terrible strain on the cracked ribs inside her chest.

"You've got broken ribs, don't you?" he asked knowingly when she clutched her side painfully rather than demanding to be put down immediately. Hermione simply nodded her head, gritting her teeth against the agony.

Rowle sighed heavily, as though that little nugget of information annoyed him. Hermione knew it wasn't because he didn't like the idea of her being hurt. He just thought it was an inconvenience.

"Sit still," he commanded in a low voice when he plopped her down at the small dining table within his chambers that overlooked the back garden of Rowle Tower. Hermione hated him all the more when she found her attention drawn to the room.

It was bigger than the entire Burrow combined. In one end of the room there was a bedroom suite, complete with an enormous king-sized bed. One of the old-fashioned ones with a heavy curtain hanging from the high ceiling to be pulled closed around the bed. There was a dining suite, a lounge area and several bookshelves and drawers that lined the room too. All of the wood was a dark ebony, matching throughout the entire room, from the bedframe and the furniture set to the wall trimmings and the fireplace.

Typically, the other complimenting colours within the room were shades of grey and green. Hermione rolled her eyes at the incredibly clichéd notion of decorating the house in Slytherin house colours, even if they did go together, aesthetically-speaking. Beyond the full wall of arched-windows lay the rolling back gardens of Rowle Tower. The sky beyond was dark, though from being night-time or simply from the continuous storms that seemed to rage during Voldemort's reign, Hermione didn't know.

She gritted her teeth against the pain when Rowle began tugging at the towel she'd wrapped around herself, suddenly reclaiming her attention. Trying desperately to hang onto it, Hermione only managed to hurt herself worse when he levelled her a glare and tugged the towel so ferociously that it tore off her body and toppled her onto the floor. The whimper that left her lips at the agony of hitting the floor when her body was already so battered was almost too much for her.

"If you're going to be difficult about every little thing, your stay here is going to be far more uncomfortable than it needs to be," Rowle warned her, squatting next to her and jerking her arm up until he could aim his wand at her exposed ribs. Hermione groaned at the sensation of the broken bones righting themselves beneath her skin.

"My stay?" Hermione scoffed, "Don't delude yourself, Rowle. I'm a prisoner."

"Yes. You are," he agreed coldly, "And you will be for the rest of your miserable life. Yet here you are in my bedroom rather than shivering and rotting in the dungeons."

"I'd prefer the dungeons," Hermione spat without thinking.

She cried out when Rowle hand tangled into her hair and he used the grip to haul her to her feet. Several precious strands tore free of her scalp with a sting when he tilted her head enough that she was forced to meet his cold gaze.

"That can be arranged," he snarled at her, "And I can tell you now that if I throw you out of this house, you'll be fucked by a lot worse people than me."

"There's no one worse than you," Hermione retorted furiously, "You're a monster."

It was a lie. At least, the part about there being no one worse than him was. He was certainly a monster. But after what she'd seen in the revel hall Hermione knew that there were a lot worse fates she could suffer than the torment of Thorfinn Rowle.

"Didn't think that when Macnair wanted to fuck you, did you?" he sneered into her face, releasing her hair and shoving her back into the chair she'd fallen out of. Hermione's cheeks darkened at the memory of cowering behind him, hoping against hope that he would protect her from being raped by anyone but him. It had been a weak moment, one rife with terror and pain and she had simply forgotten herself.

At least, that's what she told herself.

The terrible truth was that in that horrible moment Hermione had only been thinking about self-preservation. And if she was going to be raped and beaten, treated like some sex-slave and violated repeatedly, Hermione would prefer it to be done by someone she knew. At least with Rowle she knew a little of what he was like. Of how far she could push him without ending up flayed alive.

Hermione felt a little sob escape her when she realised what she had been reduced to. How dare he – how dare _anyone_ – put her in a position where she was forced to choose what kind of monster she wanted to have brutalize her?

"Don't start that again," Rowle warned from where he'd stomped across the room to a set of drawers. Hermione glanced at him in surprise to know he'd heard the pathetic little sob. She bit her lip as she watched him pull on a pair of pyjamas, struck by a sudden incredulity to see the formidable wizard doing so. The pants were black, like almost everything else she'd ever seen him wear. He pulled a plain white t-shirt on over his head, clearly not at all concerned by the idea of her seeing him naked.

She was so surprised by the sight of him in his pyjamas that Hermione almost forgot she was sitting there naked. Her body still felt unusually warm, probably from the bath water. She watched the way he glanced at her over his shoulder when she squeaked and reached for the towel he'd pulled off her, curling it around herself to hide her body once more. She didn't know why it mattered so much.

After all, the only thing he'd seen her in since she'd been given to him was her birthday suit and that horrible harness and collar. Amusement glittered in his bright blue eyes as she fussed. Hermione wasn't about to just give in to the idea of running around naked all the time. Clothes would make it harder at the very least, for him to have his way with her again. The thought of what he'd done to her made her body throb painfully again, tears leaking from her eyes despite his warning.

She jumped when he crept up on her without her realising it. When had he learned to move so silently? Hermione squeaked, her eyes frightened as she stared up at him when she found him suddenly standing in front of her chair, staring down at her without pity. She was so tired and so scared and so sore that Hermione simply stared at him, waiting to see what he would do.

She flinched when he thrust a handful of clothing into her lap.

"Wear these," he commanded, "Dress quickly. What do you want to eat?"

"I…" Hermione began, blinking in confusion, her eyes still fixed on his face. She didn't seem capable of saying anything else. Words stuck in her throat painfully.

"Flick!" Rowle barked suddenly and a house elf appeared with a crack. He was small and malnourished, his huge eyes fearful as he turned to Thorfinn.

"Yes, Master?" the elf asked and Hermione still couldn't seem to think of a single thing to say.

"Bring stew and bread. And a pot of tea," Rowle commanded. He didn't say please. He didn't even act like he was aware the elf was there other than to demand what he wanted.

"Of course, master," the elf murmured, disapparating with a crack.

"Granger, put on the clothes before I change my mind about letting you have them," Rowle warned her, stalking away with a silent grace she knew she would never be capable of.

Fearful of the threat to be left naked permanently until she could find some way out of this Merlin-cursed place, Hermione scrambled to pull on the clothing. He'd given her a pair of flannel pyjama-pants with a draw string to fit her bony frame. They were dark grey in colour and soft from being worn often. The feel of them against her skin was nice and a little sigh of contentment escaped her to be able to once against conceal her body.

"You..." she began, horrified when she saw what he'd given her for her top half. It was one of his old Quidditch jersey's from their Hogwarts days. Hermione balked at the idea of putting it on, all too aware that he'd chosen it for the fact that it meant his name would be displayed across her chest and her back.

"You expect me to wear something with the name Rowle all over it?" she demanded, outraged at the very idea.

Rowle turned towards her slowly from where he was pouring himself a glass of fire-whiskey. A cruel smile curled across his handsome, stubbled face, his eyes wickedly amused by her protest.

"You object to the idea of having my name on you?" he asked in a deceptively calm voice.

Hermione felt a chill slide down her spine at the way he looked entirely predatory as he watched her.

"You're twisted, Rowle," she accused him quietly, "Twisted and broken beyond repair."

"And you're fussing over the idea of displaying my name on an article of clothing as though it's not branded into your skin," he retorted nastily, reminding Hermione suddenly of the stinging brand still on her hip. The salve he'd used on it had sealed the skin enough that it wouldn't continue to weep, but the pain of it was still there. She snarled under her breath and looked away from his cruel expression, slipping the jersey over her head and shivering at the warmth. The fabric was soft and pliant, as though he'd worn it many times before giving it to her. It also felt alien and strange against her skin to be suddenly wearing clothing after having spent such a prolonged time without any.

When she was properly covered once more, Hermione twisted slowly, lifting the hem of the jersey so she could examine the wound on her hip. The angry red flesh now bore the Rowle crest, a shield and spears embossed with a large R and bracketed either side roaring and posing lions. She blinked at the sight, never having noticed before that his family crest contained the emblem of her Hogwarts House.

Hermione felt his eyes on her as she examined the mark that would scar her skin until the day she died but Hermione refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how upset the sight of it made her. She wanted to claw at the wound, to disfigure it until it was beyond recognition, but she didn't. As she sat there at the table in his chambers, Hermione realized something very important.

Thorfinn Rowle was charged with her protection and her continued health until Harry could rescue them, and though she was loathe to acknowledge it, the brand he'd left on her skin meant all who saw it would be aware of that. If there came a time when she managed to escape, she would still be protected amongst the ranks of the Death Eaters. She need only reveal the brand and tell them they couldn't touch her and she would be afforded a certain protection. Unless they wished to endure Rowle's wrath, none would trouble her, other than to return her to Rowle, most likely.

While it was far from ideal, Hermione was logical enough to know it was a necessary evil. For the time being, cooperating with him was also in her best interests. At least until she could muster the strength to fight off whatever he might think to do to her. Loathe as she was to seem like she'd given in, even temporarily, Hermione resigned herself to the task. She could bite her tongue on the venom she wanted to hiss at him and act civilly.

Getting to her feet carefully, Hermione limped across the room and back into the bathroom. She felt Rowle's eyes on her the whole time and she jumped when he suddenly appeared behind her at the vanity cupboard, snatching away his straight edge razor as though he feared she would turn the blade on herself. Hermione flinched away from him but otherwise ignored him, choosing to search instead for more of the bruise potion he'd used earlier, setting to work on the many hurts littering her skin.

"Did I tell you that you could use those?" he drawled at her, and Hermione steeled herself before lifting her head and meeting his gaze in the mirror. He was standing behind her, watching her every move, including the way she'd been fingering the brand carefully as she applied more salve.

"Did I need your permission?" Hermione asked in a neutral voice, legitimately interested in how he intended this arrangement to work. She'd been given to him to use at his will for whatever he saw fit, as long as she was kept alive as bait. Hermione wondered if he intended to do more than turn her into his personal sex-slave. If he meant to further degrade her by insisting she ask permission before doing anything other than sitting still and waiting for him to demand something of her.

"Why would you think you don't need permission?" he replied and Hermione wanted to roll her eyes at the way he'd answered with a question rather than just telling her.

"I was under the impression that I'm little more than a possession to you. And in my experience objects in one's possession do not require permission to interact with one another."

He narrowed his eyes on her for her use of logic but he didn't say anything either, so Hermione returned her attention to healing the hurts he and others like him had inflicted upon her in the past two days. She blushed when she found some of the abrasion healing cream she'd used for the cut on her cheek and her lip, smearing some over her fingers before dipping her hand beneath the waistband of her pants and smearing it over her aching sex.

When she was finished attending the wounds on her body as best she could for the evening without the use of magic, Hermione turned her attention to her hair. In the past two days it had become a tangled nest and she sighed at the idea of needing to try to untangle it without magic. There was nothing so frustrating as that. She combed her fingers through it first, trying to work the snarls out gently. Her scalp ached from Rowle's habit of using the grip on her hair to haul her around. It took longer than she expected until she could finally comb her fingers through it without them becoming tangled in knots. She cursed when she twisted it into a plait to keep it under control before realising the hair-tie she ordinarily kept around her wrist had been confiscated along with everything else. She didn't bother searching the vanity cabinet for one, doubting Rowle had any need for one. He might have long blonde hair that sprawled about his shoulders like a fierce lion's mane, but she didn't think he ever tied it up.

He watched her like a hawk, looming over her shoulder imposingly and Hermione wanted desperately to stomp on his foot and make him leave her alone but she didn't bother trying. Reacting to his behaviour would only encourage him to continue it. She didn't doubt he was still the same childish bully at heart that he'd always been and that if she indicated he was annoying her he would continue to do so out of spite. And so she ignored him.

He made a noise of protest when Hermione picked up the only toothbrush on the counter, squeezed some toothpaste onto it and stuck it in her mouth.

"What the hell, Granger?" he demanded, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Problem?" she asked, feeling a twist of satisfaction to know she'd upset him.

"You're using my toothbrush?" he asked, "Really?"

"Did you not want me to?" Hermione asked him, unable to hide a smirk of her own, "Does it upset you when people do things you don't want them to do?"

"Don't test me, Princess," he growled at her for her second question, realising she was annoying him on purpose.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Hermione replied, shooting a sickly sweet smile at him in the mirror, "But since there's nothing else for me to use and I've not been afforded the luxury of brushing my teeth since my capture, I'm afraid this will have to do."

"You know I put that in my mouth, right?" he asked, leering at her.

"As though your toothbrush is the worst thing that's ever been put into my body?" she retorted, and his face contorted into a cruel smile, "Can you go away now?"

"No," he answered, and Hermione caught the flicker of surprise in his eyes at her blunt question.

"Ok fine," Hermione shrugged, "But you should be warned that I've not had a chance to use the loo in two days either, so..."

He curled his lip is disgust, narrowing her eyes at her.

"Don't think you're going to outwit me, witch," he threatened darkly before stalking out of the room and tugging the door almost all the way closed behind him. Hermione noted idly that he took the straight-razor with him.

She went about the rest of her washroom business without bothering to close the door. She itched for privacy, but she knew she wouldn't be allowed any. When she was finished washing her hands, Hermione took a moment to glance at her reflection in the mirror.

Her face was swollen and bruised despite the salve she'd applied, her lip cut. Her eyes were haunted and angry, with dark circles beneath them from the hunger and exhaustion she suffered. When she couldn't bear to look at herself anymore, Hermione exited the bathroom and stopped in surprise when she saw Rowle sitting at the table eating some stew and bread. There was a second place set at the table for her and Hermione's stomach cramped with hunger as she moved over to sit down and begin eating. The stew was rich and flavoursome on her tongue, the bread she dipped in it crisp and delicious. She ignored Rowle as she ate. She was too hungry to care what he thought of her manners when she used her fingers as much as her spoon.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise when he handed her a glass of firewhiskey once she'd finished her meal, but Hermione didn't say anything as she accepted it. She just drank it down, skolling the liquid despite the way it burned at her insides. They could hardly hurt any more than they already did and maybe the alcohol would dull her mind enough that she could forget the horror she'd endured. She caught the expression of begrudging respect in Rowle's eyes when she didn't even shudder at the burn or at the taste.

"So, what now?" she asked him seriously, eyeing him with a strange sense of detachment. She felt like she could drop right off into an exhausted sleep and she honestly didn't have the energy to bother arguing with him or putting up a fight against her current captivity. There would be time enough for that tomorrow, when she was rested.

"You need sleep," he answered, eyeing her strangely as though he didn't know what to make of her behaviour.

"Which I should get... where?" Hermione asked, glancing around the room and expecting to be told she would have to sleep on the floor like a mongrel dog. Her eyes landed on one of the couches in his lounge set, eyeing it hopefully.

"In the bed," he replied from behind his whiskey glass and Hermione snapped her eyes to his face in shock.

"With you?" she asked, feeling a sense of panic begin to rise in her chest.

He smirked at her then, nodding his head and clearly reading her panic on her face.

"That surprises you?" he asked, feigning ignorance of her mounting concern.

"I thought you'd make me sleep on the floor," Hermione admitted, glancing towards his bed fearfully, "I thought a filthy little mudblood like me wouldn't be allowed to sully your bedsheets."

"Nice try," he retorted, looking amuse by her attempt to talk him out of making her sleep in the bed with him, "But you're sleeping with me. Did you forget the part where I own you and can do whatever I want to you?"

"But I..." Hermione began, before biting her lip and looked down at her lap, realising she was giving him exactly the reaction he'd hoped for. Resigning herself to her fate and whatever sharing his bed might entail - at least for the time being - Hermione steeled herself.

"Which side do you prefer to sleep on?" she asked instead.

"The middle," he smirked unhelpfully and Hermione clenched her fists.

Fine. If that's how he wanted be. Then Hermione would just have to deal with it.

Getting to her feet, Hermione limped across the room to the bed, going to the far side of it and dragging the covers back. She went back to ignoring Rowle as she climbed between the sheets. Of course, ignoring him was made infinitely harder when he climbed in on the other side, chuckling darkly to himself. Hermione tried to block him out, laying there tense and fearful that he would try to force himself on her again. When he waved his wand to douse the lights, Hermione clenched her fists. She hated the dark after being kept in the dungeons with no light for two days. She hated knowing he was right there in the dark with her, a lethal predator that might turn on her at any moment.

When he didn't reach out and touch her after several tense minutes of silence, Hermione let herself relax a little, her eyes closed tight. Exhaustion weighed on her and before she could resist, she was swept into the waiting arms of sleep.


	5. Chapter 5: Shards of Darkness

**A/N: Are you ready for another fix? Thanks so much to everyone who takes the time to review. Happy Halloween! xx-Kitten**

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 **Splinter**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Shards of Darkness**

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Thorfinn woke to a strange weight on his chest and a face-full of hair. Tensing immediately, his hands gripped whatever was pinning him down in the darkened room tightly. A little huff of disquiet escaped the weight and he tilted his head, trying to work out what was happening. His head felt heavy with sleep and he blinked in shock when he discovered the weight pinning him to the bed was Hermione Granger. For a moment he wondered if the little mudblood was trying to smother him, but she wasn't trying very hard if that was the case.

Another little huff of disquiet escaped her, ghosting against the flesh of his neck and Thorfinn started in shock when he realised what was happening. She was fast asleep, curled up on his chest like a kitten. Her hands were delved beneath his back and hooked over the tops of his shoulders. Her face pressed into the side of his neck, nose nudging his skin gently. She laid sprawled over him, her legs together and resting intimately between his spread pair.

And she hadn't even woken up.

Thorfinn stared at her through the dimly lit room, realizing it must be morning and utterly shocked to find the little witch fast asleep on top of him. She didn't wake, even when he released the grip he had on her shoulders and smoothed them down her back. In fact she made a little sound of contentment, a little hum escaping her throat at the caress. He hated her for it.

She was supposed to be afraid of him, curse it all. He'd raped her. He'd beaten her. Branded her.

When he'd told her the previous night that she had to sleep in his bed with him, he'd enjoyed the way her eyes had gone wide with horror. She'd resigned herself to doing so reluctantly and until she'd dropped into an exhausted sleep, he'd enjoyed how tense and fearful she'd been of him touching her again.

Yet here she was, curled on his chest without a care in the world.

For a long moment Thorfinn considered shaking her awake or shoving her off him, and he hated her all the more when he decided against it. Not because he was taking any kind of pity on her. That would be ridiculous and unforgivable. No, Thorfinn didn't jostle her off him because he found he rather liked the feel of her snuggled into him. He kind of hated her for that too. How dare she make him enjoy what she did to him, even when she wasn't conscious to realize what she was doing?

He despised the fact that having her cuddled into him made him feel less like a monster. It had been a long time since anyone had hugged him. His mother and his younger sister had been the only people ever to do so. His mother died four years ago when she'd tried to convince him and his father to deflect from the Dark Lord to join Potter instead. He'd been told that the Dark Lord had killed her personally. Thorfinn had been furious over that for a long time and he knew his current status as one of the Dark Lord's most favoured soldiers was because he'd expressed his fury with the Dark Lord by unleashing cruelty on others. His sister had fled the country and his company as soon as she was of age. The last he'd heard she was living somewhere in the States and operating under their mother's maiden name to distance herself from any connection to him or his father.

To find himself being hugged so intimately made Thorfinn nervous, yet strangely content. Cassie Selwyn had tried hugging him a few times after he'd shagged her, but she'd always only been a fuck of convenience when he didn't feel like making any effort at wooing a witch into bed with him and didn't want the trouble of forcing himself on any other. He never trusted her to even allow her into his chambers. She was a viper, as likely to poison him as any snake.

Thorfinn hated himself a little when he let his arms curl around the mudblood witch sleeping atop him. He felt a horrible surge of possessiveness sweep through him when she hummed contentedly again, snuggling her face against his neck without waking up. Closing his eyes, Thorfinn decided he could delay getting out of bed today. He didn't doubt that most of the Dark Lord's followers would be too incapacitated after last night's revel to surface until late that afternoon and he chose to do the same.

He noticed idly that beneath the Epsom salt and apple oil scent from the bath, she smelled like something sugary with a hint of vanilla. Her hair was tickling his cheek and Thorfinn rolled his eyes at himself when he found himself being pleased that she'd not had a tie to hold it in the plait from the previous night. Even at Hogwarts when she'd been just a kid, he'd been intrigued by her hair. It was alive with curls, coiled and springy. He'd often had to fight the urge back then to grab fistfuls of it and haul her around by it.

He hated himself a little for that kink. He wasn't often prone to self-disgust, but where Granger was concerned, he always had been. He was disgusted that despite her being a mudblood and six years his junior, he'd imagined himself doing despicable things to her mouth. She brought out a terrible side of him and evoked things within him that he'd never known before. Things that made him despise her and crave her in equal parts. And he hated her all the more for cuddling him, like she had no fear of the terrible things he'd done to her and would do to her again.

As he laid there with her sleeping soundly on top of him, Thorfinn turned his attention to the task the Dark Lord had given him. He needed to break Granger. To bend her to his will. To make her crave his attention and approval. To make her forget she was his prisoner by making her want to stay. It wasn't going to be easy. She was a formidable witch, despite the tragedy of her dirty blood, and she could outwit and out-think even him. He'd seen her do it before. Just as she'd done the previous evening when she'd began treating her wounds without his permission. He'd intended to make her fearful to do anything without his permission and the little swot had outsmarted him by calling herself his possession.

He kind of liked that. The idea of possessing her. He liked that she hadn't tried to mutilate his brand on her either.

And he kind of hated that she'd looked at what he'd done logically and convinced herself it had been done with the intent of protecting her from his brethren. He had, to be sure, but mostly he'd wanted to mark her in a way she'd never forget. For the rest of her days she'd be branded with his mark. He'd known in that moment what his ancestors had felt like when they branded their slaves. It was an intoxicating and powerful feeling to think of owning another human being. And for all that the Cause argued otherwise, mudbloods were still human beings. He wouldn't have fucked her otherwise.

She snuffled in his hold and Thorfinn jerked his arms way from her, not wanting to be caught hugging her.

He knew she was waking up when he felt her whole body go tense against his. She jerked her head back, away from where she'd burrowed into his neck, and her bewildered, wide-eyed gaze met his own stoic one.

"Argh!" she screamed and Thorfinn blinked in shock at her reaction even as she scrabbled to get free of him, snarling her hands from beneath him and pulling away so violently that she became tangled in the sheets and toppled right off the edge of the bed.

Thorfinn laughed.

He couldn't help it. Her reaction was entirely too comical for him to even bother with being offended. She stared at him in horror from the floor where she'd fallen, still constricted in the sheets, her wild hair a mess of curls.

"Warming up to me, Princess?" he couldn't resist tormenting her as he sat up slowly.

"Never!" she hissed nastily and Thorfinn narrowed his eyes at her. All amusement and nice feelings that had been inspired by her actions while she slept fled him in a rush, leaving him cold and furious.

"Keep telling yourself that," he sneered at her, "It will make it all the more fun to watch you splinter."

"I'll die before I ever think of you as anything other than my jailor," she warned him.

"No, you won't," Thorfinn promised getting out of bed and going after her. She flinched when he buried his hands in her hair, hauling on it and throwing her back onto the bed.

She was too fast for him to catch once he'd released her, rolling across the bed to the far side where she regarded him coldly.

He wasn't expecting it when she suddenly threw a book from his bedside table across the room at his head. Dodging the blow with a snarl, Thorfinn resolved himself to the fact that she needed to be reminded of her place again. She threw the whole table at him next, surprising him with her show of strength after how weak she'd been the day before.

"Granger!" he snarled, using his wand to deflect the table before turning it on her. The cruciatus curse poured through her and she screamed in agony, crumpling to the floor until he lifted the magic.

"You bastard!" she growled between gasps. Thorfinn rounded the bed and lifted her easily, tossing her onto it unforgivingly.

She kicked out at him, fear flashing in her brown eyes when she saw the feral look on his face. The monster inside him had awoken at her refusal to yield and it hungered for her blood. Thorfinn caught her legs in a bruising grip, his hands snarling the pants she wore down her legs and away.

"Don't even think about it," she snarled, writhing and fighting him. She slashed at him with her broken fingernails, drawing blood from his cheek when she caught him with them.

"Go ahead and keep fighting," he taunted her, "There's nothing you can do."

He pried her legs apart forcefully and she screamed when he crawled between them. She beat at him with her tiny fists, clawing at his skin and wriggling to get free. The monster inside him practically purred at the resurface of her fiery nature, only too eager to break her a little more.

"No!" she began snarling at him, hitting him as hard as she could, kicking at his legs with her feet. He drove his knee between her legs to keep them apart before he caught her arms, pinning them either side of her head.

"Take it, bitch," Thorfinn snarled into her face, freeing his cock from his pants and jamming it inside her.

She screamed in pain and fury at being violated again and Thorfinn cursed at how tight she was. She writhed beneath him, only succeeding at making him enjoy it all the more. When she lunged up at him, her teeth snapping in front of his nose, Thorfinn thought he might cum right then. Hatred and violence glittered in her eyes and before he could think better of it, Thorfinn let her hands go, burying his face against her throat and biting down hard on her neck.

"Ow!" she hissed, fighting harder now. Her fists resumed their pounding before she dug her hands into his hair, pulling it sharply to try and get him off of her. Thorfinn fucked her harder. Digging his hand under her arse to cant her hips for a better angle, she made a choked sound of protest. She'd clearly given up on words other than to mutter the word 'no' over and over again as though that might stop him. The inhuman side of him revelled in her defiance, and Thorfinn realised he had a new kink when he enjoyed it all the more that she was hurting him while he fucked her.

She kicked him hard, driving her heels into the back of his thighs unforgivingly and Thorfinn bit her again in retaliation.

"I'm going to kill you," she threatened him darkly, her breath ragged and Thorfinn was all the more turned on by the sound of such a threat on the innocent little mudblood's lips.

She gasped when he jerked back from her, dragged the jumper off over her head, flipped her over and drove himself back inside her, pinning her down with his body on top of hers and rutting into her like a rabid dog.

"No, you won't," he growled into her ear as he fucked her as hard as he could, "I'm all you've got."

When she bucked beneath him Thorfinn's eyes crossed. Fuck, it felt good!

Lifting off her enough that he could drag her up onto all fours, Thorfinn drove himself into her hard. A dark chuckle escaped him when she groaned at the way his cock nudged at the special spot inside her, guaranteed to bring her undone. Her hands fisted in the sheets then as Thorfinn dragged her back, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, jerking her back into every deep, powerful thrust. Her cunt gripped him tighter than a fist, her passage clutching greedily at his cock and Thorfinn snarled out a string of oaths, furious with her for the fact that fucking her felt so bloody good.

"I hate you," she groaned, trying desperately to cling to her sanity; to ignore the feel of him powering into her. Thorfinn wasn't about to let her get away with it. Curling himself around until he enveloped her fully, Thorfinn ravaged her, he sank his teeth into the top of her shoulder hard enough to draw blood, too far gone with how fucking good she felt to care that her filthy blood spread across his tongue.

She cried out then and Thorfinn knew he had her when she was unable to resist bucking her hips into every deep thrust.

"You're pathetic," she hissed at him, and Thorfinn liked the way, when she got angry enough, she started to challenge him. There were shards of darkness in her soul and Thorfinn smirked to know he could bring them out in her.

She bucked again, testing his ability to keep from cumming until he could shatter her into a million pieces.

"Is that all you've got?" she challenged, bucking again and again, her body arching into each deep thrust until he felt her begin to clench around him. She screamed when he pressed her clit like it was a big red 'Explode' button. As he shoved the orgasm through her like a freight-train, Thorfinn gave in to the urge to fill her up. A string of curses left his lips as he felt his cock empty into her in hot, wet spurts.

She trembled beneath him by the time he was done, entirely enveloped by his body, her small one completely surrounded by his large one thanks to the way his thighs pushed against the backs of hers and his fingers were tangled around hers on the bed. Her head hung forward as she tried to catch her breath and Thorfinn smirked to know she was going to have a hard time getting used to him fucking her so wildly. Now that he knew he could sway her to enjoying it no matter how she protested to begin with, Thorfinn knew he wouldn't be able to keep himself from it.

Not when she was so tight and being inside her felt so bloody good.

"You want more?" he asked her then even as she went languid beneath him.

"Get the hell off me," she huffed and Thorfinn smirked at how breathless she was, her hands still clenched around the sheets. Thorfinn responded by flopping on top of her, using the grip of his hands entangled with hers to drag her arms forward until she was laying on her stomach beneath him, his cock still buried inside her.

"I said…" she began hotly and Thorfinn shushed her.

"You take orders from me, not the other way around, Princess," he chastised her, "And unless you want me to fuck you like that again, I suggest not throwing any more tables at me."

"Screw you," she snapped.

"Already did," he retorted rather liking the feel of her sprawled beneath him. He was tempted to not bother getting out of bed at all today if he could stay here and shag her senseless.

"You're crushing me," she complained when she stopped writhing and trying to buck him off her, winded again.

"Serves you right," Thorfinn replied, his nose buried in her hair and breathing in the sugary vanilla scent of her. It had grown stronger than it was when she'd been asleep and he realised with a start that it was her personal scent, made stronger by their exertions.

"Get off," she snapped, "Damn it, Rowle, I have to pee! Do you want me to pee here?"

Grumbling, Thorfinn rolled off her, watching in amusement when she levered herself up and crawled across the bed away from him. She took the shirt he'd been wearing with her, pulling it on over her head and concealing her body to mid-thigh. If she cared that he'd slept in it and that it smelled like him, she didn't let on. If she cared that his cum was sticky between her thighs as she crossed the room, she didn't let on about that either. She stumbled twice on the way to the washroom, her knees wobbly beneath her from what he'd done to her and Thorfinn smirked to know the effect he had on her body.


	6. Chapter 6: Drowning in You

**A/N: I'm so pleased that so many of you are jumping on the Death Eater Express with us and that you've followed me down Canimal and Freya's rabbit-hole to all thing Death Eater. More darkness and trigger-poking things lay ahead ;) Much Love! xx-Kitten**

* * *

 **Splinter**

 _By Kittenshift17_

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 **Chapter 6: Drowning in You**

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Hermione squirmed uncomfortably at the feel of his cum trickling down her thigh. She loathed that feeling and knowing it was Rowle's made her sick to her stomach. She was horrified by the fact that he'd shagged her again. She'd deluded herself last night that he would only do so when there was an audience to see her suffer and jeer at her for her despair.

She hated him all the more for doing so in private too. That he'd done it as a form of punishment for her tantrum made her even angrier. Hermione hated him for the fact that he pushed her so hard, she always ended up snarling back and demanding more of what he inflicted upon her. No one else had ever had that effect on her before. She'd only slept with Ron, admittedly, and it had always been wonderful. It had always been consensual too.

She wondered how twisted she must be that eventually, once he forced her into it, she would respond like a well-paid whore, demanding more. Challenging him to be more violent, more brutal, to fuck her until she couldn't think about anything but the way her body was responding against her will to his touch. The betrayal stung and Hermione hated herself for the fact that her disgust and hatred for him didn't outweigh her body's ability to react appropriately to stimulation.

Snarling under her breath about the evil creature she'd left in the bed, Hermione turned on the shower and climbed inside. She felt dirty after what she'd done. Unsanitary that she demanded to know if he could do better while he'd bloody raped her. Standing under the spray, Hermione scrubbed furiously as her skin with the harsh brush she found inside the shower. His soap smelled like apples and spices and she hated that there was nothing else she could use. She missed her own soap.

Hermione's anguish swept over her as she scrubbed viciously, barely noticing the sting as she removed layers of skin, trying to scrub away the dirty feeling inside her soul. She felt used. She felt soured. Tears dripped off her chin alongside the droplets of the shower but she barely noticed them. She squeaked in terrified protest when he confiscated the scrubbing brush, putting his hands on her bare skin, pressing himself against her back.

"If I catch you trying to hurt yourself ever again I'm going to make you sorry, Baby-girl," he threatened, propping his chin on top of her head and Hermione hated the way he assumed a familiarity they didn't have, treating her like she was his best friend or his girlfriend rather than his prisoner and his sex-toy.

"Nothing you do will make me sorry enough to stop," she whispered despairingly, hating him all the more for the fact that when he assumed that familiarity she reacted the same way. She was his mortal enemy. She loathed him with every fibre of her being. If she had her wand she'd have been firing hexes and curses at him. If she could get her hands on the straight-razor he'd confiscated yesterday, she'd be trying to slit his throat.

But she had neither. All she had was a growing sense of hopelessness and Rowle. Hermione cried harder when he stayed there in the shower with her, his arms mirroring her own, crossed over her stomach as though to help hold her together. On some level she knew he did it to worm his way into her psyche. He pushed her to breaking point and then he comforted her like it was all going to be okay.

She wondered if Harry and Ron were out there trying to find her. If they were even still alive. She was sure she'd know if they weren't. Voldemort would be sneering in all their faces, not throwing degrading revels where she was the main attraction. Hermione cried harder as she thought of Ginny and Luna, somewhere with other horrible Death Eaters being subjected to the same, if not worse treatment than what she was receiving from Rowle.

Hermione hated him a little more when he intertwined their fingers, seeming to not care at all that he was hugging her in the shower, their naked bodies pressed intimately together. He didn't speak. He barely acknowledged she was there other than to hold her under the spray.

"Are you ever going to let me go?" she asked after what felt like an eternity, reigning in her fraying ends and tying them in a knot, resolving not to let him get to her this way. He could have her body. He could have her tears and her anger. He could use her however he saw fit. She wasn't going to let him break her.

"No," he answered with a tone of finality, and Hermione hated that she couldn't tell if he meant he wouldn't let her go to get out of the shower or if he wouldn't let her go so she wasn't a prisoner anymore.

"But I'm cold," Hermione protested.

"You're standing under hot water," he scoffed, "How can you be cold?"

"You're hogging all the hot, actually," Hermione informed him. She squeaked when he shuffled them both back a little so the water beat down on her. She'd been lying. He wasn't hogging it. He had a shower with five shower heads along the walls, allowing the water to spray at her from all sides. There was no possible way he could hog it all unless he shoved her out of the shower, which he was refusing to do since he wouldn't even let go of her.

Sighing to herself Hermione closed her eyes and pretended he was someone else. She tried to wriggle her fingers free of his after a little while of that when she couldn't forget it was Rowle clutching her. He tightened his grip on that hand and Hermione rolled her eyes to herself. If he was going to be difficult he could just deal with what she was doing. Sliding her arm slowly south she speared her fingers through her own flesh carefully, choosing to ignore his fingers intertwined with hers.

He moved with her when she leaned forwards a little, doing her best to wash the sticky mess inside herself away. Rowle didn't make it any easier by helping. He left his fingers twined with hers and Hermione squirmed uncomfortably when he didn't even release her as she burrowed her own fingers inside herself. When she'd done all she could with water, Hermione went for the soap, making sure to thoroughly cleanse herself of his essence.

She hated the twinges that sparked through her when his knuckles nudged at her sensitive flesh. She hated that despite her disgust for him she couldn't help but react to his touch. When he untangled his fingers from hers and fished her hand out of her sex, Hermione thought he'd decided that was enough. She groaned when he returned his fingers to her body, carefully pressing two of them inside her.

As much as she wanted to, Hermione didn't protest. She didn't say a word. There was little use in asking him or even begging him not to do it. From what she could tell he seemed to like fingering her slowly, almost lovingly. Were he anyone else, Hermione would have been delighted at the feel of him making love to her with his fingers. But he wasn't anyone else. Not that her body seemed to care about that. It left her mind to ponder the ethics and intricacies that came with such things, simply reacting to the touch instead.

She bit her lip on the stream of foul oaths she wanted to utter. She'd resolved to let him have her body. It was the only way she would keep her sanity throughout this ordeal. Hermione had the feeling that no matter what she did – whether she made him angry or tried to please him – he was going to fuck her. Which meant she had two choices. She could go along with him and let him have her any way he wanted her, saving herself the pain and embarrassment of being forced into it every time. Or she could rile and fight and end up beaten, bruised and battered again when her protests annoyed him.

And so Hermione closed her eyes and let him. She couldn't keep from gripping his wrist, though she couldn't tell if she wanted to yank his hand away from her private places or if she wanted to encourage him. There was no doubt in her mind that this was all part of his psychological warfare and Hermione decided she might as well let him think he was winning whilst indulging in a little of her own psychological warfare.

He made a little noise that seemed suspiciously like a hum of approval when she began to roll her hips against his touch. She hated him a little bit when he made it hard to only pretend she was enjoying it by making her actually enjoy it. When he nuzzled his face into the side of her neck, peppering her skin with kisses and little nibbles Hermione began to think she might be in over her head.

Of its own accord her hand left his wrist to curl up and around the back of his neck, clinging to him to help her keep her feet while he assaulted her with pleasure. Her fingers tangled into his blonde hair at the nape of his neck and she bit her lip on the little mewl that escaped her when he chuckled smugly. Hermione could barely stand the slow torturous rhythm as he leisurely brought her undone. Scratching her fingers at the base of his skull, Hermione gave herself over to the sensations, allowing them to sweep her away.

"Oh, God," she mewled involuntarily when his torment reached its pinnacle. Hermione turned her face into him, burying her lips against his neck as the orgasm rocked through her, tearing a breathless sob from her chest.

He caught her when her knees gave out.

Hermione let him hold her, her heart racing inside her chest, her breath ragged. He body trembled with the force of release, threatening to surrender to the forces of gravity. She leaned against Rowle heavily until she could stand on her own without falling, before pulling away from him.

"Damn it," she cursed in a whisper, her cheeks darkening over what she'd just allowed to happen. She caught sight of his smug smile he wore as she slipped from the shower. He let her leave, staying under the spray of the water and reaching for the soap for himself. Hermione dried herself without looking at him, wrapping the towel tightly around herself before leaving the bathroom in search of the pants and jumper he'd torn off her.

She found them in a crumpled pile by the bed and pulled them on, hiding her body from view once more. She eyed the bed longingly, thinking she wouldn't mind going back to sleep before Hermione realised she had nowhere else to go. Her existence had been confined to this single chamber. She had nothing to do and nowhere she could get to that she needed. Hermione bit her lip before glancing towards the bathroom where the water for the shower was still running.

Escape crossed her mind and before she could second-guess the idea Hermione raced for the door. She jiggled the handle uselessly, realising it was locked. Abandoning it Hermione hurried to the windows, checking them for locks in the hope that they opened. None of them did. It was a long way to the ground but Hermione knew if she could escape the wards surrounding Rowle Tower she could get away. She only had to survive the fall.

She'd picked up the dining chair and swung it at the window before she could consider how she would apparate away without a wand or how she would explain her attire if she was arrested. And she fell on her arse with a hiss of pain when the chair she threw at the window bounced back at her as though she'd hurled it at a trampoline instead of a glass window.

"I wondered how long that would take," Rowle's low and dangerous voice drawled from the bathroom and she glanced in his direction to see him leaning in the door frame with only a towel wrapped around his hips.

Hermione hated him for looking like that. His body was long and rippled, wiry and ridged with muscle like a line-backer. His arms and chest were thick and powerful, making him look all the more like a lion, crouched and waiting to pounce on her. The towel was blue around his hips, succeeding only in covering the part of him she'd been so thoroughly introduced to before revealing his long bare legs and feet.

His blonde hair was still damp, the golden strands having turned a slightly darker shade like amber while it was wet. It hung in a mess as though he'd shaken his head like a dog to fling the droplets away. A dusting of hair the same colour was almost invisible across his chest and a strip of fin gold strands ran south from his navel, disappearing under his towel.

Hermione narrowed her eyes on him hatefully.

Before she could think better of it, Hermione sprung back to her feet and lobbed the chair at him in fury.

How dare he think he could hold her prisoner like this? How dare he ward the room on the inside to keep her from being able to escape? She felt a satisfying sense of happiness when he wasn't quick enough to dodge her missile, the wooden chair colliding with him with a thud. She glared at him triumphantly when he stumbled back a step before his deadened blue eyes suddenly darkened to something like sapphire.

"I warned you," he snarled in a voice that made her hair stand on end, advancing across the room at her.

Hermione realised what he meant immediately. He'd expressly told her not to throw furniture at him unless she wanted to be brutally fucked again. The glint in his eyes suggested he got off on the fact that she'd hurt him. Masochist. Hermione's skin crawled to know he was both a sadist and a masochist, not at all liking what that particular mixture might mean he had in store for her.

Instinct took over then.

Before Hermione could analyse her actions she spun on her heels and darted away from him, leaping over the coffee table and bounding over the back of the day bed by the window. He was hot on her heels and a spurt of adrenaline shot through her when he roared in fury, snatching at her and attempting to tackle her. He must've left his wand in the bathroom if he was going to go for it and curse her again. Hermione scurried around the chamber, unable to desist even as he chased her. The room, while spacious, wasn't big enough that she could escape him, though it did make for an interesting chase.

She cried out as she made a mad dash for the bathroom when Rowle tackled her from behind, propelling them both to the floor. The carpet bit angrily into her hands and knees and Hermione whimpered at the sting of rug burn. He buried his hand in her hair, dragging her head back until he nipped her earlobe nastily. His free hand wormed between them and Hermione bucked beneath him when she realised he meant to carry out his threat of fucking her again for chucking that chair at him.

"You'll pay for this, you bastard," Hermione growled, writhing when she felt him snag the pants right back down her legs.

She could feel his cock, hot and hard against her skin and she hated herself for throb of anticipation that washed through her. She hated what it signified. Having decided in the shower that he could have her body if she wanted to keep her sanity, Hermione realised she'd basically given her body permission to react to his. She was horrified to learn that while her brain had moral issues with who and what this monster was, her body had no such qualms. In fact, her body seemed to think him a skilled and rather handsome lover. She riled harder at that fact, especially when he kicked her legs further apart.

"I warned you about throwing things at me, Princess," he purred coldly into her ear and Hermione realised he meant to torture her. He'd arranged himself so that the head of his penis was pressing at her entrance, but he didn't follow his usual routine of shoving it into her brutally. Instead he lingered over it.

"I warned you that I would punish you for it," he continued, and Hermione shuddered at the husky tone of desire in his voice, "I have rules, Granger, and you're going to follow them or you'll regret it."

"Rules?" Hermione scoffed, hating him for her breathlessness and the coiling pit of dread inside her as he continued to tease her without shagging her into a frenzy.

"You're not going to try to escape again," he told her, his voice dripping into her ear like sweet poison. He toned it reasonably, as though she was the one out of control. As though she was the monster. He enforced the rule by pressing the first inch of his prick inside her.

"You're not going to try to maim, starve or otherwise endanger yourself," he continued, feeding her another inch.

Hermione hated the way goose-pimples prickled across her skin and made her shiver beneath him.

"You're not going to try to kill me every chance you get," he continued and Hermione arched beneath him against her will, her body yearning to draw him deeper and causing a dark chuckle to escape him.

"You're going to accept that I will fuck you, any way I want, whenever I want and you will fucking like it," he promised her sinisterly.

"You can't tell me to like what you do when you force yourself on me," Hermione protested, fury and desire poisoning her with its heady concoction.

"You _will_ like it," he repeated, pressing himself deeper inside her. His hand in her hair slid around to cup her cheek, using the grip to turn her face on his carpet until she was forced to meet his gaze over her shoulder.

"I have no incentive to follow your rules," Hermione told him, glaring into his dangerously handsome face coldly, "You can hardly blackmail me into behaving by threatening to fuck me, when one of your rules involves accepting that you'll fuck me either way."

"I didn't specify the manner in which I would fuck you should you defy me, witch," he informed her coldly, his eyes glittering with an evil promise as he pressed himself deeper until he was sheathed fully inside her, stretching her to the point of pain and making her insides ache with the repeated abuse, "If you behave, I'll fuck you nice like I have been with my fingers. If you defy me, you will be reintroduced to the monster I've become. The one who gets off on your pain and humiliation. Is that what you want?"

Hermione glared at him in disgust.

"I don't want you to rape me at all," she informed him coldly, her mouth twisting with hatred.

"Maybe so, but I'm going to. If I have to suffer the disgust of having you in my chambers, I'll be making use of having you in my bed," he retorted.

"You're a monster," Hermione accused.

"And you're a monsters whore," he needled, making Hermione want to cry, "Do we have an accord?"

"What are you going to do with me when you're not raping me?" Hermione asked him, curiosity getting the better of her. After all, he couldn't spend his entire time shagging her. Surely. No one had that kind of stamina, not even a male in the prime of his life.

"I have responsibilities outside of you, Princess," he told her, ever so slowly withdrawing his member almost all the way. The slow torture was almost more than she could bare, "When I'm not here you will be confined to my chambers for your own protection and to ensure you do no escape. What you do when I'm away is up to you, unless it breaks one of my rules. And I'll know if you try," he warned her coldly.

Hermione hated the breathy little moan that he elicited from her as he impaled her upon him again with the same torturous pace.

"So you're basically asking me to be your courtesan," Hermione needled him with the term and she bit her lip when he nipped her earlobe again.

"Only I'm not paying you and you can never terminate the agreement," he confirmed, withdrawing slowly only to sheath himself inside her once more.

"It's not going to work, Rowle," Hermione told him, choosing to ignore the way her hips rose to meet his inward thrust.

His expression never changed, revealing nothing of his thoughts.

"I'll never give in to you," she continued when he just kept slowly ravishing her, "There's nothing you can do that will make me break. I won't just bend to your will."

"You already have," he assured her, "You cowered into me for protection against my brethren; you let me finger you into exhaustion and fell asleep against me in the bathtub. You accepted the clothing, food and drink I offered you. You accepted that I branded you for your own protection. And now you're not even fighting me off."

"There is a difference between accepting a situation in the face of hopelessness and just giving in to you," Hermione argued, another little moan escaping her lips, "As has been so brutally demonstrated, there is currently little I can do about being detained and used like a common whore. To continue to hiss and snarl at every turn would be a waste of energy and only seek to damage my psychological well-being when fighting proved as ineffective as it already has. Accepting, food, drink and clothing doesn't mean you've broken me. It just means you were able to surprise me with a moment of humanity."

"You really think I can't break you, Granger?" he asked her, his pace increasing as his annoyance with her mounted, "You think that after weeks or months spent allowing me to fuck you; after weeks of confinement with me as your only source of human contact, you're not going to get attached? That you won't grow dependent on me? That you won't end up adoring me and all I do to you?"

"I am not prone to mental disorder, Rowle," Hermione informed him coldly, "Spending years in your presence wouldn't engender me to viewing you as anything but a necessary evil to be endured."

His pace quickened again at that, his eyes flashing angrily.

"We'll see," was all he said and Hermione closed her eyes against his onslaught.


	7. Chapter 7: Monster

**A/N: Thanks ever so much to all of those who read and take the time to review. You're true gems. XX-Kitten.**

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 **Splinter**

 _By Kittenshift17_

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 **Chapter 7: Monster**

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Thorfinn was called away from the mudblood during mid-afternoon, his forearm burning with the Dark Lord's summons and he dressed quickly before locking her inside his chamber. He warded the door against intrusion, and his chambers were already warded to alert him should anyone unauthorized to be there seek access to the rooms. And since the only ones authorized were Thorfinn, his house elf - Flick - and now Granger that left very little wiggle room for any others who might seek to discredit him or cause him to fall-out of favour with the Dark Lord by getting their hands on Granger.

"You summoned me, my Lord?" Thorfinn said, greeting his snake-like master with a low bow. Rabastan and Antonin joined him before the Dark Lord could respond, also bowing deeply in respect for their master.

Rabastan wore a Cheshire cat smile and hooded eyes over whatever he'd been doing to the Lovegood girl. Thorfinn noticed idly that he also had a smattering of bruises and love-bites marring his pale throat.

Antonin's eyes glittered with a dark sensuality Thorfinn had never seen before, making him wonder what the man had been doing to Weasley and, more importantly, what she'd done to him in return.

"Your pet is feisty, my friend," the Dark Lord drew Thorfinn's attention by drawing his pale hand over the slash-marks Thorfinn knew marred his cheek where Granger had clawed him that morning. He'd forgotten to mend the damage before leaving his chambers.

"Indeed, my Lord," Thorfinn said, suppressing the urge to shudder at being touched by the Dark Lord, "She's proving to be misbehaved."

"Do you object?" the Dark Lord asked, a knowing glitter in his eyes. Thorfinn didn't doubt the powerful Legilimens could sense Thorfinn enjoyed the fight in Granger.

"It will make breaking her all the sweeter, my Lord," Thorfinn assured him with a cruel smile.

"And you, Rabastan?" the Dark Lord asked, "It seems your pet was famished?"

"Ravenous, my Lord," Rabastan practically purred, his voice husky with desire as though the Dark Lord had interrupted his sexual devourment of Lovegood.

"She will bend to your will?" the Dark Lord wanted to know.

"She is being awakened to the ways of the Dark thoroughly, my Lord," Rabastan assured him and Thorfinn had to repress another shudder at whatever sexual deviousness the man must be inflicting upon the poor girl.

"Excellent," the Dark Lord purred, "Antonin, tell us how Harry Potter's girlfriend is faring under your attentive care?"

The slow, cruel smile that curled across Antonin's face then was one Thorfinn had never seen outside of the battlefield and he knew that much like Granger awoke the terrible beast that lived in Thorfinn's soul, Antonin's monster was pushing the surface. The man was truly frightening when he lost his usually steadfast self-control and Thorfinn wondered if the little witch still lived.

"She is ruined to him, my Lord," Antonin said with a low, possessive growl, "She resists my impressions upon her in every way she can, but she can be persuaded to see things my way."

"Yes, she always was steadfastly strong, even when pouring her heart out," the Dark Lord mused.

"My Lord?" Antonin asked, his brow crinkling slightly in confusion and Thorfinn knew the fiery red-head was doomed to belong to Antonin for as long as she lived - just as Granger would be his.

"Did you know that in her first year, it was Ginny who opened the chamber of secrets? She happened upon my first Horcrux and I was able to take control of her. I know more about that girl than she realises. She will test your hold over her, my friend. She will attempt to throw off the binds you attach to her. Do not allow her to."

Thorfinn could tell Antonin didn't like the idea of the Dark Lord possessing the girl he'd claimed for himself and that the Dark Lord was well aware of it.

"I won't, my Lord," Antonin answered instead of voicing his thoughts.

The Dark Lord smirked widely to know he'd prodded the beast inside Antonin.

"I have yet to receive any word on how Harry Potter is taking the imprisonment of our pets," the Dark Lord announced and Thorfinn knew he wasn't the only one to rile against the idea of them belonging to the Dark Lord. Like himself, his friends were fiercely possessive of their belongings and didn't share well with others. It was a quirk that had bonded them in friendship in the first place.

"As such, I can only assume he is unaware or indifferent. We must test him to discover which it is. Each of you are to provide me a memory, which will be placed into a phial and owled to Harry Potter and his followers. They will be added to my own memory of last night's revel."

Thorfinn stoically accepted the phial from the Dark Lord, pondering what memory would be the most damaging of his treatment of Granger. What would be the most effective way to destroy Potter? More importantly, what memory could he provide that would shatter Weasley's affection for the girl? After all, Thorfinn didn't share what was his and for the rest of her life Granger would be his. He wasn't about to risk having that bumbling fool of a git she called a boyfriend or lover trying to steal the girl away.

A cruel smirk curled across his face as he recalled the way she'd given in to the feeling of him enveloping her in the shower that morning. Of the way she'd not uttered a word of protest. Of the way her arm had curled around his neck, tangling in his hair in silent plea that he bring her undone. Yes, that would do nicely. Thorfinn imagined the shoddy bastard had never watched Granger come undone that way. Oh, he could send other memories of all he'd done to her; branding her, ravaging her. But they would only seek to enrage the fool and Thorfinn wanted to do more than that. He wanted to emotionally devastate the ginger-haired man in his mudblood's heart and the only way to do that was to show the bastard how willing she could be in his arms. How attuned to his touch she was already becoming.

Pressing his wand to his temple, Thorfinn drew the memory out, the white material clinging to his wand tip before slipping into the phial. He stoppered it carefully before handing it to the dark Lord.

"Very nice, my friend," the Dark Lord praised, smirking. Thorfinn knew the man was examining the memory inside Thorfinn's head in addition to the cruel intentions Thorfinn had for the ginger.

"Thank you, my Lord," Thorfinn replied evenly. He was used to having no privacy to speak of when it came to the Dark Lord. To be in his presence was to be subject to mental intrusion. The man didn't need eye-contact to scrape away at someone's thoughts. Thorfinn was used to it, and he had nothing to hide from his Lord.

Rabastan and Antonin copied Thorfinn's actions, handing over a memory each to be owled to the Order.

"I have another task for you this evening," the Dark Lord purred, "Upon receiving these Potter and the Order will undoubtedly be beyond reason. You three will draw them out by laying siege to Hallows Grove. Take the Snatchers with you. Last night's revel got out of hand and we are in need of more muggles to torment and mudbloods to flay. Any other wizard in the area should be slaughtered. Be sure to draw attention to yourselves, we want the Order to act. You, my generals, will command my army in this venture. Any others from among the Order that can be captured should be brought to me for questioning. You leave at dusk."

"Yes, my Lord," Thorfinn, Antonin and Rabastan replied and Thorfinn felt anticipation of the cruellest kind gather in his belly, the monster within stretching languidly at the bloody and messy task to come.


	8. Chapter 8: Violation

**A/N: I'm so pleased that some of you are still on board this particular crazy train. I know it's not for everyone, so those of you who are still reading, and especially those of you who've been reviewing, I just want to say thanks ever so much. I hope you like this one. Much love! xx-Kitten.**

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 **Splinter**

 _By Kittenshift17_

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 **Chapter 8: Violation**

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Hermione slept late into the afternoon. Rowle had worn her down, absconding with her energy and leaving her an achy, horribly sated mess in his chambers. She'd dragged herself to the bed and slept hard for several long hours, waking in the early evening to the feel of a House Elf touching her.

"Master is telling Flick to make sure you eats, Miss," Flick the house elf informed her, blinking enormous green eyes at her when Hermione stared around blurrily.

"Flick?" Hermione asked, "Where's Rowle?"

"Master is doing the bidding of the Dark Lord, Miss," Flick intoned, looking fearful, "He is telling Flick you must be fed and kept well until he returns."

"What bidding is he doing?" Hermione asked, a finger of dread trailing down her spine like ice.

"Flick is not supposed to be knowing, Miss," Flick admitted, shaking his head, "Master says you must eat, Miss."

Hermione knew the elf wouldn't leave off or give over any more information until she followed his master's instructions. Besides, she needed the strength. She wasn't so foolish as to starve herself for the sake of protest. She might've been violated and brutalised enough to make her sick to her stomach, but the logical part of her rationalised she would need her strength should the chance ever arise for escape.

"What did you bring me to eat, Flick?" Hermione asked, rising from the bed and following the elf to the table where she sat.

"Master is be saying you is needing to be fed stew again, Miss. You was kept locked up and starved and you is needing to adjust to eating food again without getting sick."

Hermione marvelled at the fact that the horrible monster seemed to think of everything.

"How manipulative of him," Hermione replied evenly and Flick wiggled his ears nervously at her tone.

"Master is be asking Flick to make sure you eat and don't hurt yourself until he returns, Miss," he answered apologetically as though uncomfortable remaining in the room while she ate her food.

"I prefer your company to that of your Master's, Flick," Hermione told the elf, "Are you treated terribly here?"

The elf paled.

"The Master is a good master, Miss," Flick answered, "He is be letting Flick serve him as is proper and he is not beating Flick. Not like some master's do to their elves."

"He just treats you like garbage by being rude and acting like you don't have any importance beyond serving him," Hermione sighed, "Yes, I know the feeling. He's perfected it."

"The Master is good to Flick," the elf protested in a small voice, looking nervous now.

"I'm sure you've been conditioned to believe that's true Flick," Hermione smiled, "He means to impress the same conditioning on me, but he won't be so fortunate. If I present you with clothes, can you be freed?"

"You is not the Master, Miss," Flick shook his head, "Only a Master may free his elf. Miss is allowed to give Flick chores, and to ask for things she requires, but nothing else. The Master cautioned Flick to be careful talking to the Miss."

"He knew I'd tried to free you or try to have you help me escape," Hermione sighed, "Of course he did. He used to torment me for my cause at Hogwarts, though I'm surprised he remembered... Well, Flick, is there any chance I could have some hot chocolate?"

"Of course Miss. At once," the elf said, wiggling his ears happily at being given something to do rather than simply watching her eat or having her discuss freeing him from his service to Rowle. He popped out of the room with a crack, leaving Hermione to her stew and toast in solitude.

Hermione sighed as she ate her fill. She was loathe to admit that this was preferable to her stint in the dungeons. She might've been safer and unviolated in the dungeons, but she'd also been naked, in pain and starving. At least here she was permitted clothes and allowed to bathe and eat to her heart's content.

As she rose from the table and moved over to stand at the window overlooking the grounds of Rowle Tower, Hermione felt a twinge of fear for her friends. She wondered what had become of Ginny and Luna. Were they being treated brutally? She didn't doubt that Lestrange and Dolohov were monsters just like Rowle. Had her friends been beaten and abused? She knew they had been at the revel. When Rowle had been flinging her around for the entertainment of his master and the crowd she'd seen the way Dolohov had tempered Ginny. The fiery red-head had been swinging from her chains and Hermione recalled seeing the girl try to use them as leverage to kick Dolohov in the face. A move he'd clearly expected when he batted her legs apart and buried his mouth between her legs. Poor Ginny had been left writhing under his tongue, her legs draped over his shoulders, her chained hands holding her suspended in the air.

Luna had been subjected to Lestrange and Hermione suspected the man was perverted to the core. She seen the way he took great joy in coaxing responses from Luna. His fingers, hands, and cock tormenting Luna to moan his name and writhe delightedly in his hold. Hermione suspected her blonde-haired friend would be the first to break. Lestrange had treated her like a cherished lover, even when the crowd called for her blood. He'd drawn it, but even then he'd done it was a sensual sort of grace that Hermione knew would be hard to endure disaffectedly.

Hermione stared into the raging storm beyond the windows wondering if Harry and Ron were out there, fretting and stressing over her, Ginny and Luna being captured. Hermione wondered if they even knew yet. She'd lead the girls on an expedition that was supposed to have been easy. Several orphans of war had been being held in a school outside of Colchester. Their intel had led them to believe it was guarded by only a few werewolves belonging to Fenrir Grayback's pack. He meant to turn the children at the next full-moon and they'd foolishly believed it would be a relatively easy mission.

It had been a trap. Voldemort's followers had been lying in wait, clearly anticipating the attempted rescue. They'd expected to rescue the children and go to ground for a week. Hermione wondered if they boys even knew they'd been taken yet. They most likely did. If they didn't, she had no doubt they would soon. Voldemort wanted to use them as bait to lure Harry out and put an end to the resistance. He would send word to Harry of their capture. She found herself fearing their reaction. Fearing they would fall for the bait and be lured to their deaths.

If only there was some means of escape.

If only she could get word to them. If only she could find out what had become of Ginny and Luna.

But there wasn't. She had already tried escaping. As soon as Rowle had been summoned away Hermione had tried everything to find a way out of the room, all to no effect. Nothing so much as budged. Her only possible means of escape was ambushing Rowle and incapacitating him before he could seal himself inside the chamber with her, or somehow shrinking herself small enough to crawl down the drain in the bathtub.

As she stared out the window, pondering her fate, Hermione noticed suddenly that she must've kicked off her pants in her sleep. Beneath Rowle's old quidditch jersey her legs and bottom were bare. The garment was long enough that it didn't matter, but Hermione supposed it left her vulnerable, being so naked. Not that it made much of a difference. Wearing pants seemed to only prolong the process of her seduction when Rowle decided to ravish her again. They didn't keep him from shagging her. They just got in the way.

"Here you is, Miss," Flick said, bringing her a pewter mug filled with the best smelling hot-chocolate she'd ever had.

Hermione took it from the elf.

"Thank you, Flick," Hermione said, smiling ruefully, "Do you know when Rowle will be back?"

"Flick never knows Miss," the elf told her, wiggling his ears in distress, "Master just calls for Flick when he returns."

Hermione nodded and the elf gathered the dishes from her dinner before he popped out again. She sighed heavily as she looked around her prison. It might be lavishly decorated and comfortable, but it was a prison nonetheless. Unable to contemplate more sleep when she felt so sick inside, Hermione turned her attention to Rowle's extensive book collection. Many of them were tomes and texts, but there were a few novels mixed in. He seemed to favour fantastic tales of far-off places and forgotten times. Selecting one in the hopes of retreating into a different reality, Hermione carried it over to the bed and stretched out, face-down on her stomach to read.

She lost herself in the pages and for a little while the crushing reality of her own life was forgotten. In fact, she became so engrossed in the tale, Hermione didn't even hear the sound of the door opening and clicking faintly closed.

She shrieked in surprise when something warm and wet slid between her folds, tonguing her secretive places hungrily. Rowle's hands gripped her fiercely before she could begin to flail in shock or protest. He pinned her down and laved her with his tongue again, dragging her legs further apart to give him better access to his fleshy feast. Hermione groaned in annoyance with herself for presenting herself in such a way he'd been obviously unable to resist.

Lost to her reading, Hermione had slipped a pillow beneath her hips, disliking the ache in her lower back from prolonged lying on her stomach. She'd completely forgotten she'd been pants-less and that Rowle would be returning at some stage. She'd been lying there with her bare bottom sticking up into the air, far away in a different land as someone else.

"We agreed you were to accept and enjoy being fucked, Princess," he growled at her, his voice muffled by having his face buried in Hermione folds. He clearly thought she'd screamed and jumped in protest.

"You startled me," Hermione told him, her heart racing in her chest and her nerve-endings on fire from the treatment he was giving her nether lips, "I didn't hear you come in."

"You were waiting for me," he accused.

Hermione opened her mouth, thinking about protesting that she would never be waiting for him, and especially not presented thus, but all that came out was a moan. He licked at her flesh hungrily, his teeth scraping against her nether lips, his tongue probing inside her before withdrawing and tormenting the bundle of nerves at the top of her slit. Hermione's eyes crossed in pleasure. Ron had never done to her the things Rowle was doing now. He'd tried it once, when they'd first been experimenting sexually, but he'd fumbled around uselessly for a while before giving up and shagging her. Hermione suspected embarrassment had kept him from trying again.

Rowle, on the other hand, seemed entirely too gifted in the art of cunnilingus. Sliding his hands beneath her body when she made no attempt to flee his ministrations, he lifted her a little higher, shifting until his shoulders were buried beneath her thighs. If he cared that his nose nudged dangerously close to her back entrance he didn't let on. Spreading his fingers through her folds, Hermione shivered at the feel of him peeling them open like a delicate flower, lapping at the nectar that gathered there like a honey bee.

When he began gently twisting her clit between his fingers while spearing his tongue in and out of her, Hermione gave in to the sensations. There was little point fighting him if he so desperately wanted to taste her and it felt too good to protest.

"Oh, my God," she whispered breathlessly, her body clenching and coiling as he wound her tighter and tighter, like a wind-up toy that he would release simply to watch her dance. His snort of amusement ought to have embarrassed her, but he was so skilled with his tongue that she couldn't bring herself to care what he thought of her then.

Hermione's hands twisted in the bed sheets, her body striving towards the oncoming bliss. He lapped at her lazily, the rough stubble along his jaw scratching at her flesh deliciously and adding to the sensations pounding through her. A breathless, desperate sob left Hermione when he pushed her all the way to the edge of bliss before backing off and refusing to let her tumble into contentment. He did it again and again until Hermione wanted to kill him.

"Rowle!" she groaned when he brought her right to the verge for the fifth time before backing off a bit. She just needed one more good shove and she'd go over.

"Hmm?" he hummed, his tongue working inside her. She'd never noticed before, but he must have a delectably long tongue. The vibration of his sound made her eyes cross with delight and she wanted to thump him all the more for feigning ignorance of the torture he was inflicting upon her.

"I..." she began, trying to think straight and unsure how when he tongued her clit in circles.

"You what?" he asked, barely pausing in his feast to speak.

"I need..." Hermione moaned, her hips lifting of their own accord, trying to bring more stimulation, to push her over the edge. His dark laugh brought her so close it hurt.

"You want it?" he asked huskily and Hermione nodded, whimpering needily. She loathed him for what he'd reduced her to, realising this had been his plan all along but too lost to his tongue to care about things like dignity.

"Say 'please, Thorfinn'," he instructed her and Hermione hissed at him in annoyance for his smug tone. She couldn't see his face, but she imagined he'd look like the cat who ate the canary.

"Damn it, Rowle!" Hermione whimpered, pushing into his tongue-strokes, needing more.

"Say it," he chided, pulling back at little.

Hermione couldn't bring herself to. She couldn't. But she needed it so badly.

"Fuck you!" she snarled in frustration when he did it again, lavishing her with long, sensual licks before backing off again, "I hate you so fucking much, you sick, twisted, foul bastard... Please, Thorfinn!"

His triumphant chuckle was drowned out by the rush of blood in her ears and the waves of orgasm crashing upon her when he shoved her over that edge, sending her spiralling into bliss with a twist of his fingers and a probe of his tongue. There was a buzzing in her head and a tremor racing through her limbs, her body spasming with release. She felt her own juices dampen her body, mingling with his saliva as he laved her wetly, a final time.

She hissed when he climbed her body like a panther, his cock penetrating her throbbing centre eagerly.

"Ungh," Hermione groaned. Her body ached with soreness from being stretched and filled by him so often in the past twenty-four hours and Hermione had to bite back a whimper when he took her slowly, thrusting deep.

Rowle nuzzled his face through her hair, kissing her neck and Hermione hated herself when, of its own accord, her neck stretched to give him better access. She felt like a cat in heat as her hips rose to meet his onslaught, her mind shutting off all the reasons it was wrong to enjoy being in his hold.

When she tilted her head further to allowing his little nips, Hermione tensed in horror. She'd caught sight of his hands where they were pressed to the bed either side of her, holding him up as he ravished her. They were crimson. Blood stained his hands and arms to the elbow.

Hermione felt sick to her stomach.

"Don't even think about it," he warned, but it was too late, Hermione bucked madly beneath him, throwing him off of her before she scrambled across the far side of the bed away from him. Hermione blanched in horror at the sight he made when he rose to his feet.

"Oh my God, what have I done?" Hermione whispered, staggering back from him in horror. He was covered in blood, none of it his own. It stained his arms and was splattered across his face. The dark robes he wore couldn't hide the gleam of blood sprayed across them. He was filthy, his skin tinged black with residual smoke and Hermione suddenly noticed the scent of death and burnt flesh that lingered on him. His ordinarily blonde hair was a horrid shade of grey and flecked through with ash.

"Granger," he warned in a low tone, clearly sensing her oncoming emotional breakdown.

"You've been out slaughtering innocent people; my friends. Killing and burning, pillaging and despoiling; and you dare to come back here and lay a hand on me?" Hermione demanded, her eyes bugging out in disgust. She'd agreed to his ridiculous rules to let him fuck her while she was here, and she'd even allowed him to force her to like it.

Yet when he wasn't there fucking her, he was out slaughtering innocents. Killing her friends. Burning people alive and flaying skin from bone.

"Princess," he warned then, his deadened gaze fixed on her as he stalked around the bed towards her.

Hermione backed away from him in fear. She was disgusted, horrified and utterly terrified of him now. She'd heard rumours of his terrible acts. Had seen some of the devastation he'd wrought in the past. She'd even endured his monstrous actions. But it had all seemed distant somehow. This wasn't just accepting the evil she had to live with in order to survive. This was like a condonence of the terrible crimes he committed. He was a murderer. An evil, wicked man with naught but a withered husk where his soul ought to have been.

"You're a monster!"

Hermione's stomach heaved violently and before he could reach her, Hermione spun on her heels away from him, racing for the bathroom and vomiting until only bile remained.


	9. Chapter 9:Light in the Gloom

**A/N: Thanks ever so much for the love and reviews! Happy New Year, everyone! Much love! xx-Kitten.**

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 **Splinter**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Light in the Gloom**

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She had been ignoring him for a full week and Thorfinn was close to losing control of the monster inside. Thorfinn was ready to murder the little swot and it took everything he had not to. She refused to acknowledge his existence. She pretended he wasn't real. That seemed to be her tactic. Thorfinn didn't know what he'd broken inside her, but Mudblood Granger seemed to have closed down.

Not in the sense that she'd given up. Far from it. She simply seemed to have become detached and unaware of everything. The night he'd had his first taste of her with blood on his hands, Thorfinn had shattered some part of Hermione Granger. She wouldn't look at him. Wouldn't talk to him. She wouldn't even notice he was in the same room. Thorfinn had tried everything to make her.

He'd cursed her. He'd ravaged her. He'd screamed at her. He'd even beaten her.

And she bore it all in silence. If it weren't for the warmth of her flesh and the pulse in her neck, Thorfinn would think she'd become a mindless Inferius.

He'd fucked her brutal. He'd fucked her nice. He'd tried every trick he knew to make her react to him and none of them worked. She simply laid there like a doormat, ignoring him, not making a sound. It was as though she didn't even feel what he did to her.  
She'd stopped eating, she barely ever drank anything and when she did it was whiskey. It was as though her mind had shut down.

Thorfinn didn't know what to do. Weight was dripping off her dangerously, leaving nothing but bony protrusions beneath taut skin. She spent most of the day lying in the bed staring at the wall. He knew it wasn't that she'd been made a mindless drone. She was just overcome with horror and perhaps fear. He'd tried coaxing her to do something. Anything.

Nothing worked.

He was at his wits end. If he didn't get some food into her soon she was going to die. She'd been underweight when she'd been given to him and now she looked horrible. She was on the verge of collapse.

"Antonin," Thorfinn said quietly, interrupting whatever thought his friend was having, "I need your help."

Dolohov raised his eyebrows in shock to hear that sentence come off Thorfinn's tongue.

"What's wrong?" Antonin asked, clearly concerned for him.

"It's the mudblood," he answered, "She's dying. I can't get her to do anything. It's like she's not even in there anymore."

"What the hell did you do to her?" Antonin asked, looking mildly unnerved, "Did you break her like the Dark Lord asked."

Thorfinn shook his head.

"I fucked her. Last week, when we came back from the raid..."

"Without bathing or washing your hands?" Antonin asked, looking grim and Thorfinn nodded.

"She was laying on my bed, pillow under her hips, arse bare and hiked up invitingly... I couldn't resist. And when I fucked her after, she saw my arms and went mad. She vomited and cried and curled up around the loo until I moved her into the shower. It's like she's not in there anymore."

"Bloody hell, mate," Antonin exclaimed looking concerned, "What the devil were you thinking going anywhere near her after a raid without a wash? She's the female equivalent of Potter. She's pure Light to your complete Darkness. She cares when other people die. Of course she's shut down. You can't fuck a woman like that with blood on your hands unless it's hers or yours, you fool!"

"What the fuck do I do?" Thorfinn asked, running a hand through his own blonde hair in frustration.

"What have you tried?" Antonin wanted to know.

"Everything. She just takes it. Doesn't fight. Doesn't react. When she was fighting me while I fucked her, I could make her enjoy it. When she realised fighting was futile she just challenged me to make her enjoy it. Now it's like I might as well be screwing a rock for all the response I get. She won't eat. Pain didn't work. I even tried to be nice and it was like she didn't even see me... She's going to die."

Antonin looked grim.

" _Kotik_?" he called suddenly and Thorfinn startled when from within the bathroom of Antonin's suite Ginny Weasley suddenly emerged. Antonin had clad her a little see-through black lace teddy. He'd also wrapped a fine strand of diamonds around her neck on a choker-chain.

"I told you not to fucking call me that," the red-head snapped, eyeballing Antonin dangerously and completely ignoring Thorfinn.

"Come here," Antonin said, ignoring the vicious expression the woman wore. She glared at him hard, looking like she wanted to tell him to go shag himself, but Thorfinn suspected she knew better. When Antonin held up his hand, all five fingers raised, and then began to lower them one at a time she moved her arse. Thorfinn didn't even want to think about what the man had done to her that she could suddenly be so agreeable, though he had an idea. Antonin liked to be in charge and he liked to make sure everyone around him knew it. He didn't like to be defied and Thorfinn was willing to bet the little red-head had learned the hard way to submit to Antonin Dolohov.

She clearly knew what he expected of her too, climbing into his lap like the pussycat he'd addressed her as, and tucking her head beneath his chin. Antonin smirked wickedly at Thorfinn as he began stroking his hand up and down Ginny's back in a way that looked as possessive as it did adoring.

"We've got a problem, _Kotik_ ," Antonin told the woman seriously, still stroking her.

Thorfinn caught the way she arched into the touch and looked like she might purr.

"Problem?" she repeated, her tone curious when Antonin grew side-tracked petting her.

"Granger's checked out," Antonin told her, "Thorfinn did something he shouldn't have and now she's not there."

"What did you do to Hermione?" Ginny's blue eyes blazed suddenly, her head coming out from under Antonin's chin as she levelled him a glare that could curdle milk. Antonin's hand twitched in annoyance with her for the outburst but she ignored him.

"I fucked her covered in the blood of those I slaughtered," Thorfinn admitted, looking the witch dead in the eye and telling the truth, "And she was enjoying it until she realised about the blood."

"You idiot!" Ginny exclaimed, and Antonin had to latch onto her when she made to dive out of his lap, hands clawing for Thorfinn's throat.

"Ginevra!" Antonin commanded sharply, his voice cracking over the sound of her struggles like a whip. She flinched and stopped struggling immediately, though she continued to glare at Thorfinn furiously. She also refused to tuck back into Antonin, her nails biting into his hands when he tried to make her.

"Listen, She-Weasel," Thorfinn said, ignoring the struggle between the captive woman and her Master, "I've tried everything. I've tortured her, shagged her hard, shagged her soft, left her be, and even been nice to her. She's not in there. She won't eat and all I can get her to drink is a few sips of firewhiskey. She's dying."

"What did you expect? She's not some savage. She's the most logical and kind-hearted person you'll ever meet and you came to her with blood on your hands and death in your eyes," Ginny snarled at him before turning her face away and into Antonin's neck. He winced when she bit him sharply. Thorfinn was surprised when Antonin allowed it, tucking her head back under his chin and returning to stroking her back.

"What do I do to fix her?" Thorfinn asked, ignoring further insinuation that he was the world's most despicable monster, "She doesn't even sleep on me anymore."

"What are you talking about?" Ginny asked, narrowing her eyes on him, "She's been sleeping on your chest."

"Every time I wake up, until last week," Thorfinn nodded, "Like a sleepy kitten."

"If she's not even doing that then something's really wrong with her," Ginny said, the anger fading from her eyes, replaced with concern for her friend, "She's slept like that for as long as I've known her. Ron complained for weeks when they first..."

She trailed off when Thorfinn's eyes flashed angrily.

Thorfinn watched the languid way she began rubbing the top of her head against Antonin's chin, her fingers tapping out a repetitive rhythm against the Russian man's forearm.

"I'm going to need Luna's help," she said finally, clearly thinking hard, "And you're going to need to let her out of your chambers. The gardens would be best."

"You think we're going to let the three of you get together?" Thorfinn wanted to know, wondering if she thought they were stupid.

"Do you want to risk the possibility of an escape attempt? Or do you want to suffer at the hands of your master when she's dies on your watch?" the little red-head asked him, eyeing him nastily as though he was stupid for even protesting.

Thorfinn scowled at that notion, furious with the idea and with himself for fucking her that way in the first place. He loathed her for that. How dare she make him regret anything he'd done?

"What do you need Rabastan's pet for?" Antonin wanted to know, "He won't relinquish her easily, not even for an hour."

"What was Hermione doing when you turned up and started forcing yourself on her?" Ginny wanted to know rather than answering Antonin immediately. His eyes flashed and his hand slid lower, towards her arse, in warning.

"Reading," Thorfinn answered honestly, "She was sprawled on my bed, only wearing a jumper, her arse hiked in the air while she was reading some novel off my shelves."

"Oh dear," Ginny sighed, "Did you surprise her?"

Thorfinn nodded, "With my tongue. And don't glare at me like that, she was begging me for more by the time I let her get off."

"And then I'll bet you crawled on top of her. She spotted you being covered in blood half-way through?" Ginny asked and Thorfinn suspected she had been eavesdropping from the bathroom.

He nodded affirmatively about the recount of events.

"And you're sure it was a novel she was reading? Why didn't she have pants on? Didn't you let her have any?" Weasley asked, narrowing her eyes at him dangerously at the thought as though she weren't sitting in a lacy scrap of negligee on Antonin's lap.

"It was a fantasy novel," Thorfinn confirmed, "And I let her have pants. I don't know why she wasn't wearing them, to be honest."

He frowned at that. He'd not stopped to consider it odd that she wasn't wearing any at the time. In fact he'd not thought about it at all until now. Prior to then she'd worn pants diligently unless he was fucking her or she was in the bathroom. It struck him as odd that she'd not been wearing any, sprawled across his bed so invitingly. At the time he'd simply found it convenient and enticing.

Thorfinn returned his attention to Antonin and Ginny, noticing that some silent debate seemed to be going on between them.

"Please?" she asked finally, her voice tight.

"You're sure you want to do that?" Antonin asked her, his dark eyes glittering with a predatory heat as he watched her.

"She's my friend. I have to help her. Even if Rowle does deserve to be punished…. I'll need Luna's help too."

"That'll be extra," Antonin informed her, and Thorfinn realised that his dominance over the little chit was one founded on some kind of bargain they'd struck. One that meant she was bartering with him to be allowed to help her friend.

She nodded heavily, biting her lip as the tips of her ears turned red.

"Rabastan's not going to like this," Antonin said, "He'll probably try to curse us if we interrupt him."

"He doesn't have a fucking choice," Thorfinn growled, getting to his feet and stalking for the door.

When he glanced back Thorfinn watched Antonin fiddle with the fastenings of a full length ice-blue velvet cloak he'd wrapped around Ginny, completely obscuring her body from anyone's gaze. He even drew the hood up over Ginny's tousled red hair and Thorfinn smirked wickedly at his friend's fussing. It was clear to Thorfinn that Antonin didn't at all like the idea of anyone laying eyes on what he considered to be his. He was also painfully aware of the fact that he considered Thorfinn to be equal or his better to have not objected to having him see the girl in her lacy lingerie.

Rolling his eyes to himself over this entire mess he stomped through Dolohov's home and climbed through the Floo in search of Rabastan and Lestrange Manor, knowing the pervert would be in his chambers ravishing Lovegood again. The man had barely left his chambers for fucking her. In fact he only did so when he was expressly summoned by the Dark Lord. The man had an unhealthy obsession and Thorfinn didn't at all fancy the idea of interrupting him.

Sodding Granger!

Thorfinn hammered on the door of Rabastan's chamber loudly and incessantly until an irate Rabastan snatched open the door. Thorfinn curled his lip in disgust at the sight of the man. He was covered in claw marks and stark naked. He was also clutching a nine-tails whip in one hand. When Thorfinn glanced past him into the room he caught sight of Lovegood strapped to a large wooden X of hard-wood. Her ankles and wrists where cuffed to the device and there was a ball-gag in her mouth.

Her long blonde hair obscured half her face and hid her bare breasts from view. It looked thoroughly tousled and messy as though Rabastan had barely left it alone. She also had a vibrating dildo wedged in her cunt; it seemed much too large for the girl, though tremors and shudders wracked her body. Thorfinn would bet if he walked behind the girl, Rabastan would've put a butt-plug or some other object of divine torture inside her arse too.

Merlin, for all Thorfinn knew the twisted fuck was probably giving her anal and whipping her while he did it. Lovegood's eyes were unfocused and wild, rolling back in her head over the pleasure she was suffering even while Rabastan was standing at the door. Thorfinn would bet that whenever his friend wasn't fucking the girl she had to spend all her time sleeping just to keep up with the bastard.

"What the fuck do you want, Rowle?" Rabastan demanded, clearly furious with the interruption.

"We need to borrow her," Thorfinn answered, nodding at Lovegood, "Granger's catatonic from what I did to her. Need that one and Antonin's pet to revive her."

"You think I'm just going to let you use what's mine?" Rabastan wanted to know and Thorfinn narrowed his eyes on the way the man looked like he wanted to whip Thorfinn with the device in his hand.

"Leave off, Lestrange," Antonin told him, "You've already fucked her into a stupor. Let her catch her breath for the afternoon."

Rabastan glanced back at his captive when she began to struggle against her hold, making sounds, though if they were words they couldn't come out past the ball-gag in her mouth. Her eyes were suddenly focused on them at the door and Thorfinn could tell she'd heard their conversation and was concerned for Granger.

She fought too viciously against her hold and Thorfinn watched the way her body spasmed suddenly, her head dropping back and a guttural moan coming from her as her struggles made the toys inside her stimulate her in new ways, bringing her undone.

Rabastan's cock twitched at the sight and Thorfinn knew he wasn't going to give up the girl that easily.

"If you want me to give up my toy, even temporarily because you broke yours, it'll cost you Thorfinn," the man purred and Thorfinn felt a shudder of disgust curl through him at the husky tone that came into Rabastan's voice. He worked to keep the same disgusted expression from his face to stare at his friend.

"What do you want?" Thorfinn asked him seriously, already expecting the answer.

Rabastan didn't speak, he just reached up and ran his hands through Thorfinn's silky blonde hair. The feel of his hands and the sight of Rabastan's already erect cock throbbing with desire as he did it made Thorfinn's skin crawl. He pulled the strands just enough to smart and Thorfinn gritted his teeth, enduring the touch against his better judgement.

He hissed in disgust when Rabastan – who happened to be a few inches shorter than Thorfinn – went up on his toes and nipped Thorfinn's chin with his teeth, his tongue darting out to probe the blonde stubble on Thorfinn's sharp jaw.

"Enough?" Thorfinn demanded.

"It will never be enough until I fuck you," Rabastan replied, though he did step back, his hands falling to his sides.

"Never going to happen," Thorfinn told him coldly. He didn't swing that way. He was also going to take this little incidence out of Granger the minute she was right again. The little bitch would pay for making him endure the touch of his friend like this. Rabastan had always been touchy-feely and as they'd matured it had become clear that gender meant nothing to Rabastan. More often than not blood status, house, affiliation and pedigree meant nothing to him either.

All the man cared about what fucking anything with blonde hair. And he'd never forgiven Thorfinn for being the only one who resisted him. Antonin never had to deal with the git either, since his dark hair and dark eyes didn't appeal to the fetishist. Only Thorfinn had been subjected to his advances. Well, Thorfinn and both Malfoy men.

"It will," Rabastan promised him sinisterly, his gaze hot as it trailed over Thorfinn hungrily, "And if you want me to let her help you, you're going to do something else for me."

Thorfinn's eyes flashed at him in warning, an indication that Thorfinn was rapidly losing his temper. It was clear Lestrange had spent too long having his way with Lovegood. He'd forgotten that if he pushed too hard, Thorfinn would turn his wand on the man as surely as he would any victim.

"Don't glare at me, Rowle," Rabastan rolled his eyes, "When I have you it won't be as a result of blackmailing you into it."

"Then what the fuck do you want now?" Thorfinn asked, thinking seriously about knocking Rabastan out and just confiscating Lovegood.

"Go over there, take that throbbing cock out of her and taste how fucking sweet she is," Rabastan asked, pointing at Luna, who's eyes flew open in horrified protest, shaking her head against the idea.

"Rabastan. Too far," Antonin warned him seconds before Thorfinn fist collided with Rabastan's jaw, sending the man sprawling to the floor. Furious with the git, Thorfinn pulled out his wand and hexed Rabastan for good measure before he waved it at Lovegood.

The cuffs holding her to the cross sprang open and she groaned as the ball-gag, dildo and anal beads Rabastan had been using on her removed themselves. Another wave of Thorfinn's wand clothed her and he beckoned her in silence, kicking Rabastan in annoyance when the man tried to get back up.

"That was uncalled for," Rabastan announced, though he looked in good humour about Thorfinn's reaction to his suggestions.

"Keep your fucking mouth shut before I slit your throat, you useless cunt," Thorfinn growled at him as Lovegood crossed the room. She began to cry as she hurled herself at Ginny. Thorfinn noticed the way both witches clung to each other desperately, as though they'd feared they would never see one another again.

"Meet me in the garden at the Tower," Thorfinn instructed of Antonin, Rabastan and the captive witches. He didn't wait for their agreement before stalking away furiously, muttering under his breath about how he should've killed Rabastan years ago.

When he reached his chambers, Thorfinn threw the door open with a bang and he was shocked to see Granger flinch at the sound. A flinch was more that he'd gotten from her all week. He'd been keeping away when he could, too frustrated whilst in her presence to think of how to keep her alive.

He didn't bother giving her instructions. She was sitting in the bed today, as though the rare day of low sunshine had perked her spirits some. The Dark Lord was currently travelling and so the perpetual storms that followed him had ceased for the day.

Her hair hung lank about her gaunt face, and there were food-stain on the jumper he'd given her from where it had splattered when he'd tried to force feed her. Thorfinn pulled it off her body with no resistance from her. She didn't even seem to see him as he stripped her naked before scooping her out of the bed. He didn't bother trying to stand her on her feet. She'd been playing limp for two days now. Flopping like a dead-fish, to the floor or the wall, falling limp whenever he wasn't propping her up.

"Flick!" Thorfinn growled, and the elf appeared immediately, cowering at the tone in Thorfinn's voice, "Go to my mother's closet. Find something to cover Granger."

The elf winked out only to reappear moments later, clutching several folded robes that belonged to his late mother. Thorfinn transfigured them quickly into something similar to what Antonin had clad Ginny in. The silk dress Flick had brought him transfigured into a pale purple silk teddy that barely covered her arse. He wrapped one of his own cloaks around her snugly, levitating her to make dressing her easier.

When she was covered appropriately but not so much as to arouse suspicion that he might be sympathising with the filthy mudblood, Thorfinn scooped her into his arms and carried her out of the house. She didn't make a single sound the entire way, even as he took her into the garden when Rabastan and Antonin were watching on as Weasley and Lovegood sat close, clutching each other for comfort. Granger hung limp in his arms, and Thorfinn had been forced to tuck her head beneath his chin, pinning it there to keep her head from flopping about when she wouldn't hold it up on her own.

"Sweet Salazar, Thorfinn," Antonin exclaimed when he reached them and held Granger out indicatively, showing them all how bad she had become. She didn't make any move to protect herself and so Thorfinn laid her down gently on her side on one of the bench seats in the garden.

"She's dying," Lovegood whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks when Hermione didn't respond to their presence.

"Like hell, she is," Weasley growled and Thorfinn wondered how this outing might set back Antonin's hold over the fiery red-head.

"Hermione Jean Granger, you look at me this instant!" Weasley snapped, slapping her hand hard enough to smart against Granger's cheek.

"That won't work, I've tried," Thorfinn told her before he froze when Granger's eyes snapped to her friend's faces. She didn't react beyond tracking the pair of women with her eyes, no other part of her even moved save for her shallow breaths.

"Don't you just lay there and stare at me, girly," Weasley warned her, clenching her hand tightly. She was kneeling on the grass beside the bench, clutching Hermione gently.

"Hermione, it's us," Luna piped up in her dreamy voice, sound hoarse and concerned, "You need to sit up. Please sit up."

Granger continued to stare at them.

"You three need to back off, out of her line of vision," Weasley announced, pointing at Thorfinn, Rabastan and Antonin.

" _Kotik_ ," Antonin warned in a low voice and Thorfinn knew he'd set his friend back when the she-weasel bared her teeth like a feral cat.

"Back the fuck off now, Dolohov, or so help me, I'll slit your throat!" she snarled and Antonin's hand twitched for his wand.

The sound of her voice seemed to reach Granger in ways Thorfinn's hadn't because suddenly the weak, half-starved witch drew in a sharp gasp and her hand shot out to clasp Weasley's wrist tightly.

"Ginny?" she rasped, her throat clearly dry as bone.

"It's me Hermione," Weasley said and Thorfinn saw the tears that leaked from her eyes, "It's me. Everything going to be alright. We got you back…"

"Back?" Granger asked, blinking in confusion, looking too weak to sit up unassisted. Lovegood helped her, curling her arms around Hermione's frail shoulders, "Back from where?"

"You went catatonic," Weaslette told her seriously, "Rowle got you trapped between fantasy and reality."

"I…" Granger frowned, looking unnerved, "I… the last thing I remember is…."

She blinked several times before she leaned into Luna a little more and whispered.

"Ginny…. He licked me!"

Thorfinn snorted. He couldn't help it. It sounded entirely too comical to him that after a week of stressing him the fuck out, she was sounding mortified about that fact that he licked her out. She reacted violently to the sound of his laugh, startling so badly that if not for the grip Lovegood had on her, she'd have fallen on her face.

"Be thankful that's all he did," Lovegood muttered darkly, patting Granger's hair comforting.

Granger looked like she might be sick at that thought.

"She needs food," Lovegood announced, clutching Granger tighter.

Thorfinn and both his companions all snapped their fingers, three elves appearing immediately.

"Bring enough food for six," Thorfinn commanded them, "And something to sit on."

"Are you alright?" Granger whispered to her friends, clutching at both of them desperately.

When Weasley and Lovegood stayed silent but for a tremble of bottom-lips, Thorfinn supposed that really said it all.


	10. Chapter 10: Master Plan

**A/N: Thanks everyone for the reviews. Much love! xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Splinter**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 10: Master Plan**

* * *

Hermione trembled as she ate her sandwiches in silence. They tasted like cardboard in her mouth. The only consolation was the feel of the mild sunshine warming her skin. She sat cross legged on the picnic blanket one of the elves had brought. Beside her, sitting so close in a small circle that their knees touched, Ginny and Luna were also nibbling half-heartedly at their food. Hermione had no idea how long she'd been mentally unaware of her surroundings. She couldn't remember what day it was, or how long she'd been held captive.

All she knew was that something had gone terribly bad and she'd lost time. She felt sick to her stomach and she really didn't feel like eating the food she'd been given but she knew that however long she'd been checked out she hadn't eaten. She knew on a logical level that the sickness was probably as a result of not eating, but still, she didn't want it.

Ginny and Luna both looked well enough, she supposed, aside from the fact that Luna kept nodding off where she sat as though she weren't being permitted enough sleep. Hermione had felt her insides twist uncomfortably when neither of them had answered her as she'd asked about their well-being.

Rowle, Dolohov and Lestrange lingered nearby. They'd backed off a bit, as though coming to some understanding that the women under their care needed some moments with just each other. Not that having them looking on was helping matters.

"Do you think they know we've been captured yet?" Ginny asked quietly after a little while, a sad expression marring her face.

"I expect so," Hermione replied, "How long have we been here?"

"It's been ten days since we were captured," Luna told her honestly, "If they hadn't been informed by now, they'd still know something happened. They expected us a few days ago."

"Harry will be losing his mind," Ginny said quietly, picking at her food dejectedly, "You know he'll blame himself. He didn't want to let us go on that mission alone, but I talked him into it... I wish I'd listened to him."

"There's no use wishing things had panned out differently," Luna cautioned them both quietly, "The question becomes, what do we do now?"

"What can we do?" Ginny asked with a mirthless laugh, shooting a hateful glaze in the direction of the Death Eaters, "It's not like any of us are in any shape to even consider making a run for it, and even if we were, they've got their wands and we don't. I don't know about you, but I've already been taught a lesson or two about defying instructions and thinking I have any further say in my fate."

"Dolohov beats you?" Hermione asked her in a low voice, leaning forwards so they wouldn't be overheard.

"Worse," Ginny replied, looking away and biting her lip, "I'd prefer to be beaten... At least then I'd be able to rile and rage against him. If he did that I'd be able to fight back."

"He makes you submit to his every whim, doesn't he?" Luna asked, tilting her head to the side.

"How did you know?" Ginny asked, startled as she glanced at Luna.

"Rabastanlikes to talk," Luna admitted with a shrug of her slender shoulders, "He mentioned that Dolohov subscribes to the idea of sub and dom fetishism. Something about needing to be completely in control in his private life because he's not in control of it as a Death Eater."

Ginny nodded sadly.

"I struggle with it," Ginny whispered, "The things he asks me to do... the way he treats me... It would be so much easier to be able to fight him. I've never been good at rendering control to anyone else, least of all him."

"What about you Luna?" Hermione asked softly, eyeing the girl's love-bite dotted throat.

"Rabastan is indefatigable," Luna answered primly, "And his tastes and fetishes are wide, varied and depraved. He's done things to me, I didn't even know people could do."

Hermione closed her eyes in horror for her friend, taking Luna's hand gently and giving it a comforting squeeze.

"He doesn't hurt me, at least," she sighed, glancing in the direction where Rowle, Dolohov and Lestrange were standing with their arms folded, watching them silently.

"And you, Hermione?" Ginny asked her quietly, "What did he do to you?"

Hermione bit her lip to hold back the tears that threatened in her eyes.

"He branded me," Hermione told them in a whisper and Ginny dropped her sandwich.

"He..." she began, staring at Hermione in horror, her eyes wide, her mouth open as though she'd lost the ability to speak.

"With the Rowle family crest," Hermione nodded, "Like a proper slave."

"Oh Hermione," Ginny whispered, "Where? When?"

"During the revel. Macnair tried to grab me and started growling at Rowle about not seeing his name on me when Rowle beat him with something to keep him away from me..."

Hermione wriggled a little, lifting the heavy black robe Rowle had draped around her, not at all caring about having her two best female friends see her naked flesh when she lifted the hem of the silk teddy she wore to reveal the angry red brand on her hip.

"Oh Merlin!" Ginny exclaimed, "Oh Hermione, you poor thing. Listen to me, complaining about having to curl up in Dolohov's lap like a kitten when you've been bloody branded! What else has he done to you?"

Hermione sighed, covering the scar again and looking at her lap.

"Nothing so bad, though I suppose I wouldn't know, really. But before I checked out that was the worst thing. Other than that he's used the Cruciatus curse on me a few times... Most notably after I threw a table, a book and a chair at him."

"You threw a chair at him?" Luna asked, looking.

"Hit him with it too," Hermione said, a nasty smile curling across her face at the memory of the solid wood colliding with Rowle's naked body, "Other than that he can't seem to decide if he despises me and wants me to suffer or if he wants to torture me by making me enjoy it... He branded me at the revel and raped me until I couldn't even hold myself up, but then when he took me to his room he got in the bath with me and bathed me, healing my wounds and cuddling me like he adored me... it was very unnerving."

The three of them fell back into silence, each feeling a mingling of self-pity and sympathy for the other. Hermione nibbled some more of her sandwich, trying to focus her mind on coming up with some kind of escape plan. She couldn't abide the idea of being taken back to Rowle's room and locked up once more. They might never have another chance to be freed. The trouble was she doubted she'd be able to stand, let alone try to make a run for it.

"So what happens now?" Ginny asked finally.

Hermione looked at her friend, biting her lip.

"I honestly don't know. If you two think you can escape, run for it," Hermione told them in a whisper, "I can't, but you two could. Don't give them any more chance to hurt you and degrade you. Don't let Harry and Ron and the rest of the Order storm this place trying to rescue us. They'll never survive."

"We're not leaving you, Hermione," Luna and Ginny said at the same time, their tired eyes flashing fiercely.

"You can't stay," Hermione protested.

"We have no choice," Luna shrugged, "I don't like it any more than you do, but for right now the only thing we can do is stay put and do whatever is necessary to keep ourselves alive."

"How can you say that after the way Lestrange treats you?" Ginny asked her.

"He doesn't hurt me," Luna shrugged, "And he keeps me so worn out that whenever he's not shagging me, I sleep deeply. It's almost a relief actually, finally being able to sleep through the night. It's been a long time since I've managed that. Not since Daddy..."

Hermione squeezed her hand again when Luna's lip trembled on the memory of her father dying in battle some three years earlier.

"Is that a horrible thing to say?" Luna asked them, looking ashamed, "I'm not saying I like it or want to just give up... I just... Not constantly being on edge; not needing to be woken every few hours to switch off on watch; not having anyone relying on me for their survival... it's a relief. Even if I do have to suffer Rabastan's perversions."

"Why do you call him by his first name?" Ginny asked, though Hermione knew that like her, the red-head was thinking that Luna's words were a little too true for comfort. Was this the beginning of the end? Was this how she would begin to splinter?

"Because it's his name," Luna answered, looking puzzled, "Calling him Rabastan helps to remind me that he's more than just a Death Eater who does monstrous things. That once upon a time he was just another boy at Hogwarts. I think it helps remind him that I'm human too. That I have feelings. Wants and needs. Dreams. It's easy to forget things like that when we're all so caught up in this wretched war."

Hermione supposed there was logic in that. Not that she could ever see herself calling Rowle by his first name. It seemed too personal... But then, maybe that was the point.

"So we just stay put?" Ginny asked, "We just do nothing. Let them treat us like pets, to be called and petted and fed at their whim?"

"There seems to be little choice," Hermione sighed, noticing out the corner of her mind that Lestrange, Rowle and Dolohov were all watching them with a strange detached possessiveness in their eyes. When she glanced at them she could see that the three of them were entirely focused on the witch in their care and she didn't know what to make of it. Lestrange looked at Luna like he couldn't wait to get his hands on her again and Hermione didn't doubt the girl was in for another round of wild shagging with the dark haired man.

Similarly, Dolohov looked at Ginny like he wanted to come over and pick her up; to carry her away and do depraved things to her. He had a gleam in his eyes as though he wanted to protect her and Hermione realised that against their own intentions, human nature was asserting itself over the pair of Death Eaters in ways they might not expect. Hermione could tell that though he didn't realize it, Dolohov was beginning to think of Ginny not as his prisoner, but simply as his. The heart to his shield. His to command and protect where she couldn't protect herself. She didn't know much of the sub and dom fetish but she did know that the dominant in the relationship was often more involved in the relationship. They lived with the burden of having someone's utter trust placed in them.

Hermione imagined that were she in his shoes, she would find it hard to recall that Ginny was supposed to simply be his to torment and keep alive, rather than to protect. If Ginny had been reduced to doing everything he asked, if she had submitted to him, even temporarily, it would blur the line of being her jailer. Especially when she was so fierce and strong, so dominant in her own right. Hermione wondered if he found it intoxicating to have the powerful and formidable witch surrender to him.

When Hermione turned her attention to her own jailer, she felt a chill slide down her spine. He was the hardest of the three to get a read on. He watched her with an expression on his face that was one part disgust, one part fascination, one part hatred and another part intrigue. It was clear to her that he felt possessive over her. She'd seen it already in the way he'd called her _his_ mudblood during the revel when Macnair had tried to touch her. In the way he'd literally branded her as a sign of ownership. She held his gaze, trying to figure him out. Hermione knew he wasn't the same boy he'd been at Hogwarts. Back then he'd been unkind; a bully; prone to finding amusement at the expense of others.

Now he was a murderer. He did the bidding of his Lord without question, an attack dog to be unleashed on Voldemort's enemies. Hermione felt the terrible sense of fear and disgust rise in her as she recalled the way he'd looked the night she'd checked out. The horrible sight of him, bloodied and filthy with the crimes he'd committed, the acts of inhumanity he'd undertaken. She recalled the blood that had stained his arms, dried and beginning to flake off, crimson and telling of the fact that he'd not just turned his wand on others. He'd beaten them with his bare hands. Torn at them; ripped them apart and seen what was inside.

The smoke and ash that had clung to his skin and his hair had told of the way he'd burned the bodies of the dead. Hermione knew from her own experience of this war that he'd probably been involved in the burning of Mudbloods like her at the stake. She wondered if the monster in him liked to hear them scream. She wondered if he enjoyed performing the tasks his Lord asked of him. Was he entirely beyond all humanity and decency?

Hermione didn't truly know the answer.

She'd believed so, in the past. But that had been before she'd felt how gentle he'd been when he washed the blood of others from her skin. Before he'd showed how tenderly he could touch her when he wanted to. Hermione didn't delude herself into thinking she could ever look past all he had done and would still do. But she did wonder if he was all he seemed to be on the surface. She wondered if he felt compassion for those he murdered. If he knew it was wrong and maybe felt a twinge of regret.

She couldn't tell. She'd seen two conflicting pictures of Thorfinn Rowle since her capture, and Hermione doubted that they were his only facets. There would be more to him. Things he kept inside and didn't let anyone see. She'd seen the compassionate, tender lover he could be, treating her like he worshiped her, using his tongue and his fingers to make her forget all about the horrors she'd endured. But she'd also seen the flash in his eyes of the monster that lived inside his soul. She'd seen the way he could snap in a heartbeat, losing his temper and becoming a dangerous, deadly predator only too willing to inflict pain. To commit murder.

As she stared at him across the lawn of Rowle Tower's rolling grounds, he stared back darkly.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Ginny asked her softly, touching her hand and drawing her attention away from Rowle.

Hermione blinked at her friend for a moment before she smiled softly.

"It's good to see both of you," Hermione told her honestly, "I'd begun to fear I never would again."

Hermione squeaked when Ginny pulled her into a hug. Luna crawled closer, wrapping her arms around both girls too and Hermione closed her eyes, holding her friends close. She felt a stream of warmth settle around her heart. She could do this. They could all survive this. They could win.

"I have a plan," Hermione announced suddenly, her mind clearing, the fog of her detachment and her exhaustion lifting suddenly and sparking an idea.

"Oh?" Ginny asked, refusing to let either of them go.

"We might not be able to get away, but we can make this whole thing easier and guarantee our survival," Hermione whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Luna's head and ignoring the way both Lestrange and Dolohov were eyeballing her as though they didn't like having even Hermione touching what they'd begun to consider was theirs.

"How?" Luna asked in a low voice.

"They've been tasked with breaking us," Hermione reminded them, "They think they can make us so complacent, so dependent on them that we won't want to leave. They think they can make us fall for them."

"Never going to happen," Ginny announced, smirking unkindly.

"Indeed," Hermione agreed, "But we can let them think it. The most powerful force on Earth is love. That's a fact. So if we want to make sure we'll be safe, that even their puppet master won't be able to touch us, we need to make those three vile, horrible, reprehensible monsters fall in love with us."

Ginny pulled back to stare at her in silence for a full minute and Hermione grinned when Luna curled up, laying her head on Hermione's thigh and looking like she wouldn't mind drifting off to sleep.

"I've missed you," Ginny said finally, a wide smile curling across her pretty face at the idea.

"I've missed you too," Hermione told her, leaning back slowly and stretching out on her back against the blanket. Ginny copied her, lying back and curling into Hermione's side. Luna shuffled up next to Hermione's other side and Hermione closed her eyes. She laid there in silence after that, soaking up the rare day of sunshine and simply revelling in the feel of being in the company of her friends. It had been so long since she'd done anything so simple.

War had ravaged their lives. Hermione had spent all her adult life fighting it. Every day spent running down a lead, saving a life, searching for a horcrux. She hadn't simply laid in the sun with loved ones since she'd been a girl and it felt good to do so then.

She realised in that moment that Luna was right. Despite the horror of their captivity - despite being raped, tortured, beaten, objectified - there was something strangely charming about the small reprieves their captivity afforded them. If she'd still been with Harry and Ron, Hermione would never have even thought for a second about wasting a day laying in the sun or reading a good book. She hated their captors a little more for that small mercy, yet she was also eternally grateful.

Beside her on the blanket, tucked into her side like a small and innocent child, Luna drifted off to sleep, her breathing growing deep and even, her body lax with slumber. On the other side Ginny held her hand, her thumb drawing patterns on Hermione's skin and Hermione smiled at the affirmation of friendship and human contact. At the reassurance of knowing she wasn't alone. Soaking up the warmth of the sun and her friends, Hermione promised herself that no matter what, she was going to be alright. The she would get through this. That she would survive.

"So I hear you've been falling asleep on his chest," Ginny's soft voice came to her.

"It's awful," Hermione told the red-head without opening her eyes, "He looks at me with such bewilderment when I do it. You know I can't help it and I hate that I do it subconsciously."

"Maybe it will work in your favour," Ginny told her, "After all, if he's going to fall in love with you, he'll have to start thinking of you as a person and not an object first. Maybe you should tell him the story behind your cuddling habit."

"Maybe," Hermione whispered, smiling a little.

They laid there in silence after that and Hermione felt her mind drift toward sleep. She was loathe to waste the time she had with her friends by sleeping, but it felt so good being with them, she felt so safe and tired that she couldn't keep from it.


	11. Chapter 11: Beneath the Murky Surface

**A/N: Many thanks to those of you taking the time to read and review. Much love! xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Splinter**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 11: Beneath the Murky Surface**

* * *

"Are they... asleep?" Rabastan asked, turning his attention away from the sandwiches they'd all fallen to eating in silence. Thorfinn glanced towards the three witches over on the picnic blanket, surprised to see them all lying down. Stepping closer slowly, he noticed that Granger was lying in the middle on her back. To her left Lovegood had her back pressed against Granger's side intimately, cuddling Granger's left arm. To her right Weasley was curled into her as well, facing towards Granger. She had her head pillowed on Granger's shoulder, her arm thrown casually over the other two girls protectively.

All three of them were sound asleep.

Thorfinn hated them a little bit for looking so... normal.

They were captives, curse it all. They'd been brutalized and tormented, held prisoner and trapped with three of the Dark Lord's most valued and formidable generals. Yet together, the three of them looked more like a litter of sleepy kittens than the powerful witches he knew them to be. In sleep, curled together so casually and intimately, it was as though they had no fear of their jailers; no despair over the loss of their freedom. They looked relaxed. Almost content.

A rumble of thunder overhead warned against the oncoming storm that heralded the Dark Lord's return and Thorfinn's gaze clashed with a pair of muddy brown eyes when Granger's eyes snapped open at the sound. He was standing over her, looking down on her, his feet by her head at the edge of the picnic rug. Thorfinn felt a little sliver of begrudging respect and annoyance when she didn't recoil in horror or even seem to mind that he loomed over her.

For a moment he feared she'd returned to her catatonic state, but then she blinked at him.

"Not yet," she said, as though knowing he was going to tell them it was time they returned to their cages, "Please? Just a little longer?"

Thorfinn didn't think he was the only one caught off guard by her request. Rabastan and Antonin had come up on either side of him, peering down at them, and yet Granger's eyes remained on him.

"Storm's coming," Thorfinn told her, "The Dark Lord is returning."

"I know," she said, all without moving from her place on the ground. She laid sprawled on her back, looking at him upside-down and yet she didn't seem to mind her vulnerability, "But just a few minutes more... please?"

She glanced at Rabastan and Antonin then, before returning her gaze to his. She looked hopeful yet resigned that he would tell her 'no'. His comrades glanced at him seriously before looking to the skies.

Thorfinn gave her a single nod and she smiled.

He hated himself a little when he realised he'd not really ever noticed her smile before. It transformed her face and Thorfinn was surprised to see it at all. Given the circumstances.

"Thank you," she murmured, holding his gaze and shocking him with her expression of gratitude.

She looked away from him then to the red-head sleeping on her shoulder and Thorfinn watched the way she leaned over a little until she could kiss Weasley's forehead.

"Wake up, love," she said softly to the girl and Weasley opened her eyes slowly. She blinked at Granger before smiling sweetly. For just a moment, Thorfinn knew the redhead had forgotten their captivity. Then her gaze lifted to him and she looked resigned and annoyed to see him.

"Time to go," Granger told her softly, curling her arm around the girl in a hug before Weasley sat up slowly.

"Is Luna alright?" the redhead asked glancing towards the still-sleeping blonde.

"She's exhausted," Granger sighed, curling around to spoon the little blonde for a moment. Thorfinn put out a hand to stop Rabastan when the man took a step, clearly not liking to see his captive touched by Granger. She cuddled the girl carefully.

"Don't wake her, please?" she asked, looking directly at Rabastan.

Rabastan stilled under Thorfinn's hand, tilting his head at the mudblood as though considering the idea.

"Ready, _Kotik_?" Dolohov asked of Ginny and Hermione slid her arm out from under Luna, pressing a kiss to the girl's temple before she sat up slowly.

"Almost," Weasley sighed, reaching out and wrapping Granger into a tight embrace. The women clung to each other for a moment before letting go. Thorfinn looked on as Rabastan bent, intent on picking up Lovegood, while Antonin lowered his hands towards Weasley. Before they could touch either girl however, Granger reached out and took hold of one of their hands each, startling his companions.

"Thank you," she said to them both seriously, holding their gazes, "I know you didn't have to let them out to help me... so, thank you."

Thorfinn knew she'd shocked the two Death Eaters into stillness, but she didn't show that she realised what she'd done. She just released their hands and turned her gaze back to Thorfinn. He stared at her when she held both hands up towards him.

"I can't stand on my own," she admitted to him as Rabastan recovered enough from her expression of gratitude to scoop Lovegood into his arms almost tenderly. Weasley accepted the hand up Antonin offered her but chose to walk on her own.

Thorfinn sighed before he reached down, scooping Granger up into his hold. His skin prickled when she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, clinging to him as though she feared he would drop her. She didn't make any sound of protest as he carried her inside, his companions following behind him silently. Weasley brushed her hand over Granger's hair when they parted ways and Thorfinn carried the witch back into his chambers where she belonged while the others made for the Floo.

"You owe me," he told her quietly when he carried her into the bathroom and set her on the edge of the tub, waving his wand to make it begin to fill.

"For letting me see Ginny and Luna?" she asked, watching him as he moved about the bathroom, adding things to the bathwater, including a potion to improve her current exhaustion.

"I had to pay to get Rabastan to let Lovegood loose. She was trussed up in ways your brain couldn't begin to fathom."

She looked puzzled at that.

"You'd be surprised what I can fathom, Thorfinn Rowle," she told him truthfully, "What payment did he ask for?"

"Rabastan has a fetish for blonde hair, and he doesn't particularly care what parts a person attached to that hair has. He's been trying to convince me since I was at Hogwarts to shag him, but I don't swing that way. He wouldn't let Lovegood out until I let him run his hands through my hair and he licked my chin," Thorfinn told her, shuddering a little at the memory.

"How awful for you," she retorted in a conversational tone and Thorfinn eyed her suspiciously. Her expression belied her sarcasm.

"Indeed," he agreed, "He also tried to suggest I lick Lovegood's cunt because he's completely perverted, but I punched him."

"Not interested in Luna?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him sceptically, "Is it her lack of filthy muggle blood in her system that turns you off?"

"I'm not about to put my tongue where that twisted bastard has had his cock and Merlin only knows what else," Thorfinn told her, curling his lip in disgust. He almost fell over when a little giggle escaped her.

"Imagine where he's had his tongue... and he licked you," she pointed out and Thorfinn felt nauseous. Scooping up a handful of water he scrubbed furiously his chin where Rabastan had nipped him and licked him.

"Don't laugh," he warned her, "I'm going to make you pay for what he did."

"It's hardly my fault he wants to shag you," she replied almost flippantly, still giggling as she watched him scrub at his chin, "You can't just take it out on me."

"Yes I can. It's your fault I had to endure that because Weasley said she needed Lovegood's help to reach you."

She bit her lip then, looking down at her lap and Thorfinn felt the oddly friendly moment they'd just shared fade away. She grew sombre and serious, her hands fiddling with the fastenings of the cloak he'd wrapped her in. When she undid them, the cloak slip off her shoulders, pooling around her waist and Thorfinn startled to suddenly be assaulted with the sight of her dressed in the purple silk teddy he'd put her in before taking her outside. He paused in his scrubbing when she slipped the straps off her shoulders too, before experimentally getting to her feet. She wobbled precariously, clinging to the basin as both garments slipped down her body to puddle at her feet, leaving her body bared to his gaze.

Thorfinn's cock throbbed painfully in his trousers at the sight she made.

Her pale skin made his brand on her all the more prominent. She had some residual bruises too from what he'd done to try and rouse her, though she didn't mention them. She'd lost an alarming amount of weight since her capture, and especially since the war. He didn't remember exactly how she'd looked before it, though he recalled her wearing frumpy clothing that didn't flatter her figure. He wondered why he couldn't seem to recall. He'd thought enough times about shoving her against a wall and shagging her mercilessly back then that he thought he ought to.

"You're staring," she warned him as she climbed back onto the edge of the bathtub, curling in on herself as she leaned forwards to dip her toes in the hot water.

"You just stripped in front of me without my... assistance," he said, hedging over the word when he realised he'd been about to say with him making her take her clothes off.

"Did you not carry me in here for the purpose of a bath?" she asked, still not looking at him.

"I did," Thorfinn answered, a frown creasing his brow.

"I've found that doing so naked is often the most productive way to bathe..." she said, "Unless... were you planning to be the one undressing me again?"

She glanced at him then, quizzically, as though she was genuinely curious about what he'd intended and Thorfinn had the feeling she was uncomfortable, though not about being naked before him. She seemed to have either gotten over her shyness - unlikely - or she had simply resigned herself to the fact that he had seen it all before, had touched it all before, and would again. No, the uncomfortable vibe seemed to stem from embarrassment over the idea of her being catatonic in his presence for a week, with no recollection of the time, because of what he'd done to her.

She slipped into the bath then, not waiting for him to get in first or to prompt her too. Before he could even think about disrobing she slipped right down until she was laying on her back on the bottom of the tub. She had her eyes closed tight, and her legs bent up like a pretzel. She swayed slightly under the water, clearly trying to make sure her hair was thoroughly wetted. Thorfinn watched her, fascinated, when she sat back up and reached immediately for the shampoo, scrubbing it through her hair before she slid underwater again to rinse it clean. He crossed his arms over his chest at her for that. He'd meant to get in with her but she was clearly more intent on cleansing herself right then, rather than soaking.

"Could you hand me the conditioner?" she asked softly, her eyes still closed, hand groping for the bottle blindly as she tried to wipe shampoo from her eyes with the other.

"I could've done that," he told her, handing over the bottle.

"I think you've done enough for me in the past week," she replied and Thorfinn realised she was embarrassed he'd been able to make her take a mental vacation.

"Should we discuss the reason for that?" he asked her, unbuttoning his shirt slowly and stripping it off his body.

"Do you really see any point in that?" she retorted.

"Since you're acting completely normal again now, I'd say yes. What caused you to check out? I assumed it was the fact that I'm a monster, but you didn't seem to care when you were being flip a moment ago or when I carried you inside."

"Does it matter?" she asked, "It's not like you actually care about my opinion of you. You're a Death Eater, Rowle, a loyal one who does the tasks he's asked to do with a brutality mirrored only by the two companions you seem to keep closest to you. And me? I'm just the insignificant little mudblood burden you've been charged with harassing and cajoling into Stockholm Syndrome or madness. To you, I'm not a person. Not something with feelings, hopes, dreams and magical abilities. You've been raised to believe that people like me are little more than scum; something to be ashamed of and ridiculed if you deign to acknowledge our existence at all. Why would you care what caused me to take a mental vacation, outside of you clearly being a monster?"

"I'd prefer to keep it from happening again. I'm supposed to keep you alive, which is not easy when you won't eat, drink or move on your own," Thorfinn answered tightly, his face losing all expression at her words. Nothing she'd said was untrue and yet... yet, he had begun to think of her as a person. He'd always known, subconsciously. It was obvious, but it was true he considered her and people like her to be far beneath him on the hierarchy ladder.

"If you don't want it to happen again, don't force yourself on me after you've been out committing murder of people I dedicated my life to keeping safe," Hermione informed him primly, combing her conditioner-coated fingers through her long mane of curls, "And don't surprise me if I'm reading a novel. Novel reading is a form of escapism and I wasn't here when you turned up. Not really. Mentally I was in another realm where things were exciting and happy, not war-torn and broken. Being raped by you whilst you displayed the horrifying acts of war all over yourself was too shocking a jolt back into my horrible reality."

Thorfinn supposed that made sense. Not that he had to like it.

He was supposed to be breaking her but he realised then that it had been a mistake to think of tormenting her with his own triumphs on the battlefield. Not because it didn't cause her significant anguish to know he and his brethren could decimate the illusion of safety she worked so hard to build. But because it didn't serve his purpose. His purpose was to alter her opinion of him so much that she would want to stay. Not because he wanted her to, but because the Dark Lord had commanded it, knowing how it would strike a sizable blow to Potter and the Order of the Phoenix to know the three women leading them could be so easily swayed to the Dark.

Making her catatonic didn't serve that purpose and so Thorfinn supposed he would simply have to refrain from doing what he'd done again.

"Do you have bubble-bath?" she asked, startling him out of his thoughts with her entirely absurd request.

"Do I seem like the type of person to possess liquid soap to make my bathes bubbly?" he asked in return, quirking an eyebrow at her and entirely stumped by her random question.

"I suppose not," she answered, her brow wrinkling a little, "Flick?"

Thorfinn glanced down at his elf when Flick popped into the room next to him. Flick startled horribly to find them both naked, and clasped his ears, dragging them over his eyes absurdly.

"Miss?" Flick asked and Rowle found himself glancing at the mudblood in his bathtub in confusion when she giggled at his reaction.

"Could you bring me some bubble-bath please?" she asked politely.

"Right away Miss," Flick answered and Thorfinn was shocked by the uncomfortable squeak in the elf's voice a he disappeared again.

"That was unexpected," she commented, slipping down under the water once more and swooshing her head about, trying to wash the conditioner from her hair. Thorfinn – who had been in the process of unbuttoning his trousers – stared at her in complete confusion.

She seemed like an entirely different witch to the one who'd been handed over to him in chains.

"Did you know elves could cover their eyes with their ears like that?" she asked when she'd washed her hair out sufficiently. Thorfinn watched her mutely as she pulled the plug from the tub, the soapy water draining away.

"Because I didn't. I'd seen Dobby wiggle his when he was anxious about something. I suppose I've never surprised an elf by being naked in their presence before…. Are you still staring?" she went on as though she were his houseguest – his lover – only too comfortable being naked and conversational in his presence.

"Are you mental?" he asked mildly, a niggle of concern prickling at him as he watched her sit in the empty tub, clearly planning to refill it just as soon as Flick returned with bubbles.

"Why would you ask me that?" she countered rather than offering an answer.

"You're talking to me like we're actually friends or something," he pointed out, tensing in surprise when Flick popped into the room again, one hand clamped over his eyes and the other blindly holding out a bottle of bubble-bath.

"Will that be all Miss?" Flick asked.

"Yes. Thank you so much Flick. I'm sorry I surprised you," she replied entirely too cheerfully, her eyes sparkling with amusement when Thorfinn took the bottle of bubbles from the elf and handed it to her.

"Master, do you need anything from Flick?" the elf asked.

"Not right now," Thorfinn answered, amused when the elf wiggled his ears nervously and disappeared again.

He watched in silence as Granger upended the bottle of bubbles, spreading her knees and dumping the liquid on the floor of the tub between them before she turned the taps on and watched the tub begin to fill. He noticed idly that she'd claimed the far end of the bath for herself, reclining against it lackadaisically and eyeing him strangely.

"Are you just going to stare or are you going to get in?" she asked eventually as the bubble began to foam, hiding her body from his gaze, "Only, if you are getting in, you need to do it now. Otherwise I'll overfill the tub and water will go everywhere."

Had being allowed to see her friends had this effect on her?

He'd never seen her acting so…. Human. Oh, he'd noticed her activities plenty of times when they'd been at Hogwarts, but he'd always been subject to the venom she hissed at the sight of him and to the dirty looks she threw in his direction whenever he tormented her.

"You're sitting at the wrong end," he said finally, watching her face as he dropped his trousers, baring his body to her gaze.

"I'd be in your way if I were sitting the other end," she disagreed with him and Thorfinn felt her gaze travel down his body like a hot caress. No particular expression came over her face as she inspected him. She simply stared as though disaffected by his naked form. Stepping into the tub, Thorfinn settled himself in the warm water, already deciding that he hated bubbles. They got in the way of being able to see her naked body beneath the water.

She watched him the entire time, eyeing him with that same blank expression on her face and he hated her for it. How dare she scrutinize him? How dare she act like everything was fine and dandy? He mustn't be doing his job as her captor if she could be so comfortable in his presence.

He tangled her legs with his as she sat the other end of the tub regarding him coolly, dragging her feet over his thighs to rest them either side of her hips whilst burying his own feet under her.

"So, what now?" she asked him seriously, still watching him.

He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"What now?" he repeated.

"Well, I assume part of your plan is to somehow convince me that you're not a monster. So what happens now? Because I still think you're a monster."

Thorfinn narrowed her eyes on her.

"Is this you asking me to fuck you again?" he wanted to know, trying to unsettle her. He preferred Granger rattled. He didn't at all trust her when she was seemingly calm.

"Good heavens, no!" she replied, looking mildly revolted by the very thought, "Feel free to refrain from ever fucking me again."

"We had an agreement," he reminded you, "You checking out on a mental vacation doesn't change things at all."

"Of course it does," she countered, "You went out of your way to make sure that I'd check back in. And while I don't doubt it was to avoid angering your master, you still did it. You acted to make sure my continued health was a priority. So where does that leave us?"

"I would think the answer was obvious," he replied coldly, not at all liking her insinuation.

"Oh?" she asked, raising her eyebrows,

"You're merely a chess piece waiting to be put to use," he told her nastily.

"You really ought to stop objectifying me, Rowle," she told him, "You'll develop objectophelia. And then I'll walk in here one day to find out shagging a conditioner botte or something. It's not healthy, you know."

"You think you're worth regarding as human?" he asked nastily, eyeing her in annoyance.

"I'm sure my thoughts don't matter to you," she shrugged, "So what happens now? How do you plan to have me fall for you? That was your plan, wasn't it? Abuse me into falling in love with you and so psychologically wound Harry and Ron by doing anything you ask of me?"

"I find your voice incredibly irritating when you're not cursing me or begging me to fuck you harder," Thorfinn told her, "As for my plan, I don't need one. All I have to do is keep you locked in this room, routinely shagging you, and eventually you will begin to crave my attention and my company. All too soon you'll feel a little rush of happiness at the very sight of me."

"I doubt that very much, given that the sight of you makes me queasy," she replied coldly.

"Now," he shrugged, "But when mine is the only face you see; when my voice is the only voice you hear; when my scent is the only one you breathe; eventually you will come to depend on me. You require human contact and human interaction. And I'm all you've got."

She glared at him hatefully and Thorfinn knew he had her.


	12. Chapter 12: Beating Heart

**A/N: You're all fabulous! Much love!**

 **xx-Kitten**

* * *

 **Splinter**

 _By Kittenshift17_

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 **Chapter 12: Beating Heart**

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Hermione regarded his muscular form keenly. She'd not really taken the time to do so since her capture. In fact, Hermione couldn't rightly say she'd ever spent much time inspecting Thorfinn Rowle's appearance.

His blond hair was still a brilliant shade of gold, such a bright shade that it practically glowed in the torchlight of the bathroom. His face was pointed and hard. Everything about him was sharp. His cheekbones were like razors; his jaw pointed. His eyes were a shade of blue she'd never seen in another.

He had broad shoulders, though his entire form was lithe with wiry muscle and understated strength. She knew from experience clutching at him and tussling with him that he was far more powerful than he appeared. Which was saying something, Hermione supposed, given than he was already formidable and intimidating to behold. His chest was dusted lightly with blond hairs that matched those upon his head.

His chest and stomach were chiselled with lines of ropey muscle beneath the taut skin. It seemed cosmically unfair to Hermione that such a horrible soul dwelt within such an appealing package. She couldn't deny that physically, Thorfinn Rowle was attractive. On top of his appearance was the fact that he radiated a cold fury and exuded power. Being in his presence was mildly unnerving. She knew that in the time since they'd been students at Hogwarts, Thorfinn Rowle had transformed from the wizard he'd been to the monster he was now.

There could be no denying that he was an incredibly powerful wizard. It took power to so effectively have climbed through the ranks of the Death Eaters. She had heard it had something to do with the death of his mother. Hermione supposed that made sense.

Hermione wondered what kind of sick, twisted soul Thorfinn must have to be able to still so unquestioningly follow Voldemort's orders, enacting his every whim.

As she stared at him, sitting there in silence, his face blank and impassive, she wondered what went on beneath that smooth façade. Had he railed against his master over the death of his mother? Had he stood in stoic silence and watched her be tortured and murdered for her betrayal? Did it bother him, having a mudblood sharing his bath and his bed?

His face gave nothing of his inner-most thoughts away. He was like a mirror, reflecting nothing but her own face back at her in those silvery pools. He didn't speak as he regarded her with the same intensity she had turned on him. She wondered what he thought when he looked at her. Did he simply see an unattractive mudblood? Did he secretly scheme the best way to break her to his will?

She was surprised at the silence never grew awkward between them. It was tense, to be sure, but not awkward. She wondered how that could be. Even after all this time, the occasional awkward silence still fell between her and Harry or her and Ron. Yet she didn't feel awkward beneath Rowle's gaze.

Though she did feel a little like some kind of puzzle he was trying to figure out. She knew she'd thrown him for a loop with her casual act and demeanour in his presence. She could tell it bothered him somewhat that she was concealing her fear of him so well. Hermione supposed that she really had no choice in the matter. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cower from him again. Not without a lot of cajoling.

She tensed when he skimmed his hands along the lengths of her calves beneath the bubble-filled water, his fingers exploring the flesh of her legs. He didn't look away from her as he did so, and Hermione expected he was watching for her reaction. After a week or so spent in a catatonic state, he was probably revelling in having her be coherent enough to react to his touch.

Despite the way curiosity nagged at her, Hermione refused to ask what he might've done to her while she'd been catatonic. She didn't want to know. She imagined – given that it had been a week before he sought assistance – that he'd done all manner of things to try and rouse her from that state.

"Come here," he commanded quietly, breaking the silence after what felt like a lifetime.

"Why would I do that?" she countered, a prickle of unease slithering down her spine from the way his eyes gleamed at her possessively. Her body was hidden from his gaze beneath the bubbles.

"Do it," he said in the same silken tone, his eyes never leaving her face, "Or I'll make you."

Hermione didn't doubt it. Not when she realised the expression in his eyes was hunger.

"Which would entail what, exactly?" she murmured, eyeing him and trying to hide how nervous it made her to be the object of his attention. She could see that the monster inside him was riling for release, struggling with the urge to force her into submission.

"Keep defying me if you really want to find out," he told her. "Though the last time you tried it, I branded you…."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him hatefully for the reminder, feeling again the terrible agony of the burn against her flesh. She hated herself a little too when fear of experiencing anything like that again had her peeling herself off the end of the bathtub and shuffling along the bottom, jostling the bubbles and the water as she slid toward him between his bent up knees.

He refused to release her ankles as she did so, watching her every move as she slid until she was sitting directly between his legs, as close as she could come without their privates touching and without climbing into his lap. Her body thrummed with anticipation as she eyed him, and she cursed herself for a traitor at the feel of the rush through her system. She expected she knew what was coming and she hated that her body tensed with excitement for the feel of his hands and his mouth upon her flesh once more. She shuddered hatefully when the secret place between her legs clenched nervously at the idea of being impaled on his cock again.

Her mind recoiled violently from the idea of shagging him again, knowing all that he had done; all that he was capable of. She also knew resistance was useless. He was much stronger than her; much more powerful; and she was without a wand.

"Closer," he told her, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Hermione despised the way the movement drew her attention to his mouth. She'd never noticed – had purposely refused to examine – his mouth. She knew already that he was particularly skilled at using his tongue, both for concocting horrid lies, spitting spells and pleasuring her into madness. She hadn't allowed herself to look at his lips, yet she found herself doing so then.

Doing as he commanded, moving closer to him as he'd insisted, Hermione lifted herself carefully with her arms until she was straddling him intimately. She could feel the hot, silk covered steel of his cock throbbing beneath her spread legs – having been careful not to allow him inside her – yet for all that her own body tingled with desire, she found her attention fixed on his lips.

Pink and silken, they were a perfect pout. The bottom lip was slightly fuller than his top lip; if she was being honest, he had the type of mouth made for kissing. He tilted his head a little, his eyes still fixed upon her face intently as she straddled his hips.

"Closer, Princess," he demanded, never raising his voice. His tone was like silk as he stared at her.

"How?" she whispered, frowning now, her gaze dragging away from his lips to meet his steely one.

"I think you know," he replied evenly and Hermione had a terrible feeling that she did indeed know how to get even closer to him.

He wanted her to…

Narrowing her eyes on him, Hermione's mind riled against the idea of being the one to instigate this round of intercourse. She opened her mouth, intending to snarl at him about how she wasn't some dog to be ordered around and how she wouldn't willingly take him inside her body.

The touch of his hands on her hips stopped her.

His fingers were soft, gentle against her skin, skimming over her lightly. He shifted slightly beneath her, jostling her slightly on his lap and pressing his cock against her nether lips. She knew he was probably trying to rearrange so she could better straddle him, but the pressure and heat of his hard length pushing at her clit made her bite her lip on a gasp. His nails dug gently into her lower back, silently urging her.

"I…" Hermione began, meaning to protest that she didn't want to do this. That she didn't want to shag him.

"Don't lie to me, Granger," he murmured and though he sounded distracted and gentle, Hermione could hear the warning and the threat in his voice and see it in his eyes. For a terrible moment she wondered if he was using Legilimency on her. Biting her lip again, Hermione looked away from his face, her cheeks burning with shame as she lifted off him enough to delve her hand between them.

He tensed when she took hold of his cock lightly, standing the hard steel at attention, aligning the swollen head with her thrumming nether lips. She glanced at his face as she lowered herself slowly onto him. Her body twitched and tensed at the initial intrusion, stretching to accommodate him and Hermione closed her eyes, unable to bear holding his gaze as she took him inside herself.

Slowly, almost painstakingly, Hermione lowered herself until he was fully sheathed inside her. His size pushed her body to the limit, the head of his cock nudging at her womb and making her ache just a bit.

"Close enough?" she asked, refusing to open her eyes or look at him.

"Mhmm," he hummed an affirmative. His hands on her hips tightened a little, lifting her gently back up his length and Hermione fought the whimper of despair and pleasure that tried to leave her. His hands bit into her hips until she lifted herself without him forcing her to.

She lifted slowly until just the tip of him remained inside her.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice soft yet demanding.

Hermione blinked at him, following the directive without meaning to. She hated him all the more when she became trapped in his gaze as she slowly impaled herself upon him once more. She expected her eyes were wild. Her heart was racing inside her chest, hammering out an uneven beat and there were elephants stampeding inside her stomach. She lifted up again without his instruction before gliding down the silken length of him again, slowly building to a rhythm.

As much as she wanted to, she couldn't look away from him; his eyes holding her captive in their mercurial pools as she rode him slow and easy. When he shifted slightly beneath her, lifting his hips to drive into her at a different angle on her downward plummet, a moan escaped her and her head dropped back.

Merlin, how she hated him for the things he could make her feel. His dark chuckle was triumphant and Hermione loathed the way the sound of it washed over her like an electrical current. Goose-pimples spread across her skin and Hermione gave herself over to the sensations. Her hands found his bare shoulders, clutching at him for balance as she rode him faster, her head back, eyes rolling back in her head at the way the position prodded against the sensitive spot within her.

She groaned when she felt him capture her nipple with his teeth, nibbling it lightly, his tongue tormenting the tight peak while his fingers tormented the other one. He drove upwards into every downward stroke she took and Hermione gave into the frenzy that swept through her then. Tangling her fingers in the hair at his nape, she hung on for dear life, working herself into a wild fever of activity and sensation.

"I hate you," she gasped when his free hand curled up her back to grip the back of her neck, pulling her down so he could reach her neck. He growled incoherently in agreement, burying his lips against her throat, nipping and suckling at the flesh, driving her wild. Hermione gasped, panting in his hold. Her heart raced inside her chest and she'd lost all rational thought. All she could do was feel.

"Ungh," she moaned when he canted his hips beneath her, driving himself impossibly deeper within her and causing her clit to grind against his pelvic bone deliciously. She was so close now, so close to release. So close to being able to forget that it was Thorfinn Rowle making her feel so good.

Her nails bit into his shoulders as she gripped him hard, levering herself up, rolling her hips on the downward slide before bouncing back up again. He smirked ferally at her whimpers of need, his grip tight on her hips, jerking her down into every one of his hard upward thrusts. The water of the bath sloshed violently but Hermione was too wild with need and desire to care as she chased her orgasm.

She found her eyes drawn once more to his perfectly kissable lips, and as she raced towards the edge Hermione forgot herself entirely. She didn't know which one of them was more shocked when her lips met his for the first time, crashing down upon them hungrily. He tensed beneath her for a moment as Hermione nipped the plump flesh, her tongue licking at the seam of his lips until they parted.

He tasted like whiskey, his tongue curling against hers sinfully and Hermione gasped as she plummeted over the edge, her orgasm slamming through her like a tidal wave. She swallowed the groan she drew for him, snogging him wildly and riding out the waves of pleasure as she dragged him over the edge with her. He drove into her hard three more times, the groan leaving him in an anguished rush as he buried himself so deep within her. Hermione felt his seed splash hotly against her womb, his cock emptying in heavy spurts while she explored his tongue with hers.

She pulled away when she ran out of air, collapsing against his chest, breathing hard. She could hear his heart hammering beneath her ear, dimly aware in the aftershocks of pleasure that she'd wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her needily. She panted heavily, trying to catch her breath and feeling him doing the same. She could feel him still buried deep inside her, his cock twitching with every ripple of aftershock from her orgasm.

Tears prickled in her eyes as she laid there against him, listening to his heart beat. Tears of self-loathing. Tears of hatred. Tears of fury. How dare he cajole her into fucking him like that? How dare he have the nerve to hold her prisoner and make her feel anything but hatred? How dare he shag her harder than Ron ever had? How dare her body betray her heart and enjoy it?

A single tear slipped down her cheek when he smoothed his hand down her back almost lovingly. If it weren't for the hatred that burned between them, Hermione knew the touch would be soothing, even affectionate. Instead it made her feel used. Biting her lip so hard it bled, Hermione pushed her tears and her despair away. There would be time for that later. Later when Rowle wouldn't have the satisfaction of knowing how he was getting to her. She couldn't bear the idea of him thinking this would be an effective way to break her. She didn't want to be ordered to shag him this way ever again.

She could accept it when he held her down and violated her. She could reconcile his brutality and compartmentalise about it. After all, in those instances he always forced himself inside her despite her snarls and her threats. She couldn't reconcile having climbed into his lap and ridden him so willingly. Hermione didn't want to think about the fact that she had given herself over to the feelings he evoked within her.

She didn't want to acknowledge that she hadn't lost her temper with him, she'd simply lost her mind to the pleasure of having him inside her. What kind of twisted must she be to have enjoyed the touch of a monster like him?


	13. Chapter 13: Smooth as Whiskey

**A/N: Mwahahahaha!**

* * *

 **Splinter**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 13: Smooth as Whiskey**

* * *

Thorfinn's mind reeled, his tongue still tingling from the kiss she'd given him. He could still taste her, hours later, despite the whiskey he'd been downing since. Her sugary, vanilla scent seemed stuck inside his head and his lips prickled from the feel of her mouth on his.

He'd abandoned her inside his chambers, leaving her to eat dinner in solitude when he felt his Lord's summons. The Dark Lord had been away seeking something – some way to destroy Potter, no doubt. He'd been furious when Potter had not arrived at Hallow's Grove while Thorfinn and the other Death Eaters had destroyed it. In fact, Thorfinn suspected the Dark Lord was beginning to doubt the plan of using the mudblood and her friends to lure Potter out.

Thorfinn wondered how Weasley had reacted to the memory he'd sent of Granger.

"My friends?" the Dark Lord asked, drawing Thorfinn's attention as he fingered his bottom lip, trying to rid his mouth of the feel of the Mudblood.

"My Lord?" Thorfinn asked, glancing to the side to see that he'd missed some of the meeting – clearly – because only Thorfinn, Antonin and Rabastan remained in the hall.

"It seems Potter will not be so easily drawn into battle after one memory of his witches _enjoying_ our company," the Dark Lord said, his hissing voice cold with fury.

"I suspect he might not have seen it yet, my Lord," Antonin offered up. "If Potter is as deep underground as our intelligence on the matter suggests, he might have not received your package, yet."

"You believe he would not be frantically searching for the Mudblood and her friends?" the Dark Lord asked.

"Our intelligence at the school with the orphans where they were captured suggests that the three witches were meant to get those brats out and go to ground for a week. It could have taken that long for Potter and the Order to even notice they were missing. Since then, they might've been searching for the witches and not yet received your package. It's not as though we sent him a direct owl," Rabastan reasoned.

"Thorfinn?" the Dark Lord asked.

Thorfinn met his Lord's gaze seriously.

"Everything I encountered on my forays since the pets were captured seemed no more furious than usual my Lord," Thorfinn admitted. "If Potter and the Order knew that the three little bitches had been captured, he would surely be ripping the world apart to find them. I suspect he has yet to encounter your message. By now they will undoubtedly realise something has become of the witches."

"Then we need to send a louder message," the Dark Lord decided after looking thoughtful for a long moment. "If the Order is not yet aware of the capture, they soon will be. Send word through our spies and other members that might be able to contact the Order. I want it known that two nights from now there will be a revel in Quart Pot Vale. A spectacle for all to behold – a show of my power. Your pets will be in attendance as the main event – alongside the slaughter of several Order sympathizers and prisoners we've been storing away."

"What would you have us do to them, my Lord? Antonin asked, and Thorfinn heard just the slightest inflection in the man's tone that suggested he did not at all like the idea of putting Weaselette back on display for any others to see.

"Bella has been begging me for the privilege of torturing them," the Dark Lord pondered and Thorfinn caught the smirk on his face. He'd heard Antonin's tone too and thought to torment him.

"Bella's methods will be counter-productive to breaking them to our will, my Lord," Rabastan insisted. "She has grown too heavy-handed of late. If you intend to lure Potter – deluding him into thinking his witches can be saved – he needs to believe they are still worth saving. Bella's touch will have the opposite effect."

"What do you think Thorfinn?" the Dark Lord purred. "Is Bella too heavy-handed?"

Thorfinn was careful with his thoughts, his expression and his tone as he answered.

"Bella is unhinged, my Lord," he admitted. "She has been for some time. While she is more than capable of destroying villages and ending lives – she is incapable of the refinery and subtlety needed for this venture. Though I'm sure if you asked her, she would be willing to put the entire town to shame with a display of her own."

"You believe she should be put on display, fucked and used like a whore?" the Dark Lord asked, delighted.

"You've yet to punish her for what happened with the item in her Gringott's vault, my Lord," Thorfinn reminded him quietly, knowing the Dark Lord had asked him to do so at some stage.

"I had forgotten," the Dark Lord's voice lowered to a whisper for a moment. "Indeed, you are right, Thorfinn. She has not been properly punished."

"I only mention it, my Lord, because you asked me to keep an ear out for traitors amongst our midst. There are some who grow bold with the belief that such casual disregard for your valued possessions can go unpunished," Thorfinn informed the Dark Lord and he felt the slightest of nudges against his foot. Thorfinn didn't need to look to know it was Antonin.

"She will be punished," the Dark Lord smirked cruelly. "This revel will serve to draw out Potter and his minions, and to remind those among my followers of what can befall them should they displease me."

"What do you mean for us to do with our new pets, my Lord?" Thorfinn asked seriously.

"I rewarded the three of you with those pets for two reasons," the Dark Lord mused in a soft hiss, his fingers stroking the head of Nagini as she slithered over the right shoulder of his throne. "You have all pleased me well, of late, and you are three of my most well-known Death Eaters to Potter and his ilk. They are yours to do with as you wish as long as they remain alive and of sound enough mind to torture Potter with their betrayal. What do you believe you should do to them to lure Potter into the open?"

"Another public fucking, my Lord?" Thorfinn suggested, feeling Antonin and Rabastan both tense beside them. "After all, Potter knows the three of us. The idea of us touching his… friends… will hurt him far more than the sight of just anyone doing so. I suggest some kind of pier in the centre of town. Burn mudbloods and muggles around the base. Give Aunt Bella a pedestal midway up – I personally suggest Fenrir for her punishment – you know how she loathes beasts. At the top, we will tether the pets."

"And should Potter succeed in trying to take them from the three of you?" the Dark Lord was smirking now.

"He will not," Rabastan promised darkly.

"But he must believe he can," Thorfinn mused quietly. "I suggest the three of us, in our masks, at the top of the pier guarding and tormenting the prisoners. They will foolishly believe that they can beat thee masked Death Eaters. They might even try to apparate directly onto the platform and take them. Let me show you my Lord?"

Thorfinn leaned forward a little, offering his mind to his Lord to peruse the imaginings Thorfinn was encountering. The Dark Lord was only too eager to invade Thorfinn's mind, perusing his ideas and imaginings over the notion he had suggested with a sick glee. The invasion of his mind was one Thorfinn was so accustomed to that he did not even flinch at the feel of his Lord strolling through his mind.

"It is your creativity, Thorfinn," the Dark Lord purred as he withdrew, a terrible twisted smile curling across his snake-like face. "That I enjoy most."

"Thank you, my Lord," Thorfinn replied evenly, gracing the Dark Lord with a cruel smile of his own.

"This plan will, indeed, work well. See to it that the others are informed of the upcoming revel. Make sure word of it gets back to the Order. They must be informed that Granger, Lovegood and Weasely will be in attendance as the main course for the revel. Be sure to inform the Order of the other prisoners they might attempt to rescue as well. Drag Finnigan from his hole too," the Dark Lord commanded of his most loyal generals. "I do not doubt that the pets will be substantial enough bait, however the more distracted and scattered the Order, the better."

"At once, my Lord," Thorfinn, Rabastan and Antonin all nodded in agreement with their directives.

"Before you go," the Dark Lord went on. "I believe another package for our friends in the Order is needed, don't you?"

"Of course, my Lord," Rabastan nodded and Thorfinn recognised his willingness to share another memory.

"Extract a memory to torment our friends, if you will?" the Dark Lord purred. "This time however, we will provide them a little extra incentive to view them, shall we? Each of you are to bring me a memory of the torment you have inflicted on you pets – the ways you are beginning to break them to your will. You will also each bring me a lock of their hair. We will identify which memory belongs to which pet. Potter is a simpleton, after all."

Thorfinn forced a laugh at the Dark Lord's smile as he scorned Potter.

"We'll fetch the required items, my Lord," he promised, accepting the glass phial the Dark Lord levitated towards each of them to contain their memories.

The Dark Lord waved them away with a flick of his wrist, a twisted smile still on his lips, and Thorfinn recognised that the dark wizard was enjoying tormenting Rabastan with this particular notion about the hair. Rabastan would be utterly loath to part with even a single strand of Loveood's long blonde hair. Nodding his head respectfully to his Lord, Thorfinn exited the hall with Antonin and Rabastan on his heels.

Neither of them said a word until they were well beyond the hearing of their Lord before Rabastan snagged his elbow.

"What the hell did you show him?" he demanded. "What are you going to have us do?"

"You're getting too attached," Thorfinn hissed in return, shaking Rabastan off his elbow and pinning both of his friends with a glare. "And the Dark Lord knows it. You think the bit about the hair is for Potter's benefit? He knows your kink, Rabastan. He's playing with you!"

Antonin's eyes widened in horror as he realised that Thorfinn had point.

"The purpose of this mess is to break them and make them so attached to us that even if they ever get the chance to escape, they won't _want_ to. That's how he means to break Potter. _You_ aren't supposed to get attached to her. She's to be attached to you. And objecting to the idea of sharing them for the sight of others will land you having to watch the rest of the bloody ranks fuck her! Do you want that?" Thorfinn hissed, sweeping his cold gaze over his two closest friends.

"My plan, however, concedes to the Dark Lord's intent to use them as bait whilst keeping us the only ones close to them. The only ones touching them," Thorfinn inclined his head slightly. "Take a look for yourselves."

He grit his teeth as both of his friends used Legilimency to invade his mind and view the same imagining the Dark Lord was so taken with. Everywhere people screamed and shouted. The Death Eater ranks swarmed the town, celebrating, laughing, torturing others for their amusement. Around the base of the piers mudbloods burned and screamed as they were tortured. Muggles, mudbloods and halfbood women were brutally raped and used for sport. Children were tormented; men broken. On a pier midway up Greyback ravaged Bellatrix while she screamed her fury and her death threats, only to be 'consoled' by the Dark Lord himself for her disobedience as he tormented her.

And right at the top their pets hung from chains on their wrists and ankles. Nooses about their necks and the chains adorning their flesh were the only things marring their naked flesh. In the imagining Rabastan held his cat–of-nine-tails whip and was tormenting Lovegood with it, making her scream. Antonin toyed with Weaselette by contorting her this way and that, as though she were a life-sized doll or perhaps a puppet and he held all the strings. In his mind, Thorfinn tormented his mudblood easily, marring her silken skin with one of his blades and toying with her naked flesh. All three witches screamed sporadically, but even inside his mind Thorfinn was not fool enough to believe they would scream and cry for help without proper cajoling.

"There's no way Potter will resist such bait," he purred quietly when his friends withdrew and Thorfinn caught the tightening of Antonin's eyes and the clench of Rabastan's fist.

"And if he succeeds?" Antonin challenged. "If Potter storms the pier and takes them away?"

"So be it," Thorfinn shrugged coldly. "Should that happen, we will all be dead. Would you prefer your little pets to remain here, handed off to someone else if you can no longer have her?"

Rabastan's knuckles began to crack as he clenched his fists so tightly.

" _That_ ," Thorfinn pointed at the two of them. "Is a problem. You don't have to fucking like it, but you have to do as our Lord commands. Inside your own chamber with your pet, think, say and feel whatever the fuck you want. Outside of it you are both generals of the highest esteem to our Dark Lord. If he thinks you are growing too attached to your pets, he will murder them for spite. Yours is only the task of breaking her. They are blood traitors. They are Light. They are filth. Do not delude yourself into caring for them or you will share their fate."

Antonin clenched his jaw and looked away. Rabastan's eyes glittered with hatred, and Thorfinn let a cruel smirk cross his face. This was going to be a problem. He had never doubted his friends' abilities in the past, but if he knew anything it was the effect an innocent, righteous little witch could have over her captor. He knew it well enough, and _his_ mudblood had spent a week catatonic. Thorfinn could understand their attachment given that they'd each spent almost two weeks now, toying with, tormenting, and touching their own little pets.

He was not fool enough to believe that any of them actually had deep feelings of anything so horrid as love or affection for their pet. It was merely the unsettling and yet strangely peaceful feeling of returning from a mission that left their brutalised souls flayed and ravaged by the monsters within them to a sweet, innocent little witch in one's space. The Mudblood had been catatonic and still Thorfinn had found strange release to return to his chamber and find her there. At times it irked him, knowing she was always there, in his space, in his bed, using his suite for her existence.

It irked him to return and find her sprawled on his bed or reading a book. It also confused the hell out of him because growing up he'd always been informed that such would be the actions of his wife. That he might return from work to find his wife in his home, perhaps reading or writing, tittering about something or other. Thorfinn knew from experience that his friends suffered the same conditioning as children and young men. It was a confusing state to have such an arrangement with an inappropriate pet that must be broken and bent to their will. Made all the more confounding by the fact that it was their job to break those witches to their will. Thorfinn knew he'd had little success thus far in such a venture, but he knew that much like him, his two friends had been working hard to convince their pets to adore them.

Perhaps he might need to drag them both away and insist upon a night spent fucking proper pureblood witches rather than returning to their little pets. Give a man the comfort of a woman in his bed, depending on him for protection, and that man might grow complacent.

Something the Dark Lord would never allow.

"Attachment to you pets," he warned his friends coldly. "Will see you share their fate. Now fetch a lock of hair from your witch and torment her with questions about which memory she'd most like for her friends in the Order to see and then report back to the Dark Lord."

He nodded at them both sharply before he stalked away in the direction of his chambers where his sweet-lipped little mudblood waited.


	14. Chapter 14: Bend or Break

**A/N: *Scampers by***

 ***flings the chapter in your direction***

 ***scurries underground to wrestle another plunny into submission***

 **xx-Kitten.**

* * *

 **Splinter**

 _By Kittenshift17_

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Bend or Break**

* * *

Hermione tensed at the sound of Rowle returning. The click of the door to his chambers, the snick of the metal in the lock and the almost imperceptible swish of his robes as he moved into the room were the only sounds announcing his return. She didn't dare turn to look at him or acknowledge him.

Perched upon a windowsill overlooking the gardens of Rowle Tower, Hermione tried her best to pretend he didn't exist. She loathed him more than ever as she stood, listening for his silent footsteps. What he'd done to her in the bath before he'd been summoned away by the Dark Lord was tormenting her mind incessantly. She couldn't bear it. She felt as though she had betrayed herself and everything she stood for. She'd couldn't believe she had snogged him.

The feel of him behind her made the little hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and Hermione held her breath as she felt him there. He didn't speak and she hadn't heard him approach. She only knew he was there because of the cold that swept over her.

"Tell me something, Princess," he purred into her ear, his lips brushing the sensitive shell and making her shudder. "Which memory of our time together would you most like Weasley and Potter to see, hmm?"

"What?" Hermione gasped, spinning to face him.

Hermione blanched when she caught sight of a dagger clutched in his hands. Her eyes widened, fixating on the blade as it glinted. Lightning cracked beyond the window, making her jump even more.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" he asked in an even tone, looking evil as he stared at her.

"You... what are you going to do with that?" she asked, eyeing the blade carefully. Fearfully. Hermione didn't want to imagine the type of things he might inflict upon her with the weapon.

"What would you like me to do with it?" he countered, always one to parry with a question of his own.

"Put it down?" she suggested. "Bury it in your Master's chest? In your own?"

"Now that's not very nice, Baby-girl," he practically purred, a cruel smile curling his lips up ferally as he lightly trailed the tip over the sensitive flesh of her throat, making Hermione swallow fearfully at the dangerous caress. He dragged it very lightly along the length of her jaw, his steely eyes fixed upon her own terrified pair. Hermione knew he was getting off on her fear. That he was enjoying the way her heart raced inside her chest painfully. That the goose-bumps that spread across her skin at the kiss of the steel against her were turning him on.

Hermione hated him all the more for the fact that he was doing it to exert dominance over her.

"Do it," she demanded, finding her courage to glare up into his eyes rather than focusing on the path of the blade as he trailed the tip of the dagger over her lips.

"You think I won't?" he challenged, smirking in the face of her bravery.

"I hope you do," Hermione retorted. "Then I'll be free of you."

His eyes flashed a warning before he moved so suddenly that Hermione screamed. A sharp sting near her scalp made her cry out before she found herself shoved back against the window she'd been staring out.

"Ouch!" she cried, glaring at him in confusion when he stepped back. Hermione lifted her hand to her temple where he'd cut her with the blade, her fingers coming away bloody.

She stared at him in confusion, wondering what he'd done before he held up a lock of her curly hair with the thinnest sliver of her scalp attached. He smirked triumphantly.

"You'll never be free of me, Granger," he warned her.

"Why did you do that?" she asked, confused. "What do you need with my hair?"

Horror dawned upon her when she recalled what he'd said about sending a memory to Harry, Ron and the Order. He meant to mark the vial of a potion containing one of his memories of her with her lock of bloodied hair and send it to them.

"You can't," she whispered. "Please don't, Rowle. Please don't torment them."

"You'd rather stay here?" he smirked in reply.

"Of course not. But if you send them a memory..."

"You say that as though we haven't already," he rolled his eyes. "Your first night with me was shared with your friends. But the intel of your failed mission suggests they weren't expecting you until a few days ago and have been searching for you since. They are not furious enough in their attacks to suggest those memories Antonin, Rabastan and I shared have reached them just yet. So another is in order. Hmm, what shall we share of your time with me, Granger?"

"You already sent them something?" Hermione asked, horrified. Blood trickled down her cheek from her bleeding temple where he's almost scalped her.

"Mhmm," he smirked, "The Dark Lord thought it most appropriate to share the morning you and I spent in the shower last week."

Hermione closed her eyes in horror, her cheeks burning.

"That's how this is going to be? Raping me in front of the court at the revel wasn't enough? You have to share everything with _him_ too. With my friends? Why? Do you imagine that's the best way to endear me to you? To make me fall for you and submit to your will?"

"I just follow my orders, Granger," Rowle shrugged unapologetically. "Besides, why worry about having your friends see what I've done to you in private when they're going to witness what I do to you publicly?"

Cold dread filled her and Hermione stared at him fearfully.

"What do you mean?" she whispered.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" he asked as he vanished the dagger he'd used on her before he began extracting a memory with his wand. "You and your friends are to be the main attraction at a revel in Quart Pot Vale next week. Tell me, do you think Weasley will scream when he watches me fuck that pretty little mouth in front of the whole world?"

Hermione lowered her bloodied hand from where she'd been trying to stem the blood flowing from her head before she stepped away from the window and slapped him fair across the face for mentioning Ron. The sight of her crimson hand print staining his pale cheek was a grisly one and the horrid smile he gave her for it was enough to make Hermione shudder.

"You're testing my rules, Granger," he warned her coldly.

"Screw your rules," Hermione hissed in his face. "You don't get to say things like that to me. Not about Ron. Not after everything you've done."

His eyes flashed at her and Hermione cried out in surprise when he lunged at her again almost too quick to see. Discarding the lock of her hair and the vial he'd filled with a memory, he spun her until she was looking out over the grounds again, her bloodied cheek smearing against the glass. Hermione felt the hot tears begin to pour down her face as he ripped her pyjama bottoms down, canted her hips and drove his hard cock back inside her. She clawed against the glass, squirming, wriggling, trying to flee his brutal treatment but he pinned her easily with his superior body strength. One of his hands tangled in her loose hair, dragging her head back and to the side far enough that he could bite down on the delicate skin of her throat. Hermione cried out again in agony when he bit her hard enough to break the skin.

"I hate you," she whispered brokenly. "I hate you."

He didn't bother to reply and Hermione barely heard the sound of knocking on his doors over her own pathetic mewling whines as he drove into her again and again. Unlike the other times he'd fucked her, he clearly wasn't in it for her pleasure this time. He didn't attempt to torture her with pleasure. This was just pure torture. This was simply him using her for his own amusement and discarding her when he was done - like a breakable toy he didn't care about.

"Rowle?" Rabastan's voice came from the doorway and Hermione squealed when Rowle flinched minutely at the sound as the door opened to emit the dark haired Death Eater. "Oh. I see you're busy. What happened to not getting attached?"

Hermione cried harder when Rowle pounded into her faster without responding before he bit her harshly again and pumped her full of his seed. When he was done with her, he pulled out of her coldly, fixed his robes to conceal himself and then dragged her by the hair around to face Rabastan.

"Ah shit," Rabastan cursed, his eyes assessing the carnage carefully from the blood pouring down Hermione's cheek where he'd hacked at her temple to the bloody print of Hermione's hand on Rowle's cheek, the bruise on her cheek from the glass and the wound on her neck from being bitten to her naked lower half, sticky and dripping with Rowle's spunk.

"What the fuck have I said about opening my chambers without permission, Lestrange?" Rowle growled, shoving Hermione to the floor at his feet carelessly. Hermione cried harder as the carpet bit into her knees, burning them.

"One of these days I'm going to fuck that pretty mouth of yours, Rowle," Rabastan purred and Hermione could tell from the gleam in his eyes as he stared at Rowle that he was thinking lustful thoughts about the blonde wizard.

"No, Rabastan. Never," Rowle disagreed with him. Hermione whimpered when he nudged her with his foot. "If you get any of your filthy blood on my carpet, Mudblood, I'm going to make you clean it up with your tongue."

Hermione whimpered, dragging herself back to her feet and stumbling for the bathroom, taking that for a dismissal as she attempted to keep from getting any more blood on the carpet.

"Did you partially scalp her?" Rabastan could be heard asking and Hermione cried harder as she caught sight of her reflection in the bathroom mirror. There was only a small cut in the shape of a circle by her temple where he'd take a single curl but like all head wounds, it bled profusely.

Horrified by the sight of herself and feeling more powerless than ever, Hermione turned on the shower, hating herself for thoughts of opening her open wrists and bleeding out in the tub. Merlin, she couldn't live like this. She wouldn't live like this! She couldn't stand the idea of him coming back from wherever he went when he wasn't with her and either tormenting and torturing her with his cruel and almost adoring habit of bringing her off so sweetly; or coming home in a mood like this one, where he brutally treated her with disgust and contempt and wounded her beyond her imagining. She'd rather endure the Cruciatus cruse again than live through this kind of battery.

Glaring at her own reflection, furious with herself for having been caught in the first place and thinking that it was high time she did something more than just surviving this viciousness, Hermione pushed away from the sink. She dismissed thoughts of suicide to be free. If Voldemort wanted to put them on display and wanted to torture the remaining members of the Order, he was going to have to work for it. She was done putting up with this bullshit. Every minute of ever day, henceforth, would be spent honing her skill and focusing her mind until she could perform wandless magic.

After all, they could take away the tools that made her a more effective witch, but they could not deny her the magic that festered in her blood and ignited her soul. And in short order they were going to make the acquaintance of the true power she possessed. She winced at the sting of searing water over the exposed skin where he'd cut away a sliver of her scalp and Hermione leaned into the pain. They wanted to break her with pain and violence, and they were going to fail.

Hermione didn't think she'd ever truly pitted her will against anyone before in her life, except perhaps Professor Umbridge, and look what she'd done to that vile bitch. Thorfinn Rowle was going to rue the day he set his sights on her. Voldemort and all of his Death Eaters would rue the day that they took Hermione Jean Granger captive. She would make sure of that. If it was the very last thing she did, Hermione was going to watch the darkness fall, and she was going to watch Thorfinn Rowle crumble until he was nothing but a bad memory.


End file.
